GIFT  OF 
Walter  Morris  Hart 


SPECIMENS 

OF 

EXPOSITION   AND   ARGUMENT 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK   •    BOSTON   •    CHICAGO 
ATLANTA  •    SAN   FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON  •    BOMBAY  •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


SPECIMENS 

OF 

EXPOSITION  AND  ARGUMENT 


COMPILED   BY 
fO 

MILTON   PERCIVAL,  A.M. 

AND 

R.   A.   JELLIFFE,    A.B. 

INSTRUCTORS   IN   ENGLISH  IN   OBERLIN   COLLEGE, 


Nefo  If  0rfe 

THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 
1908 

All  rights  reserved 


GIFT 


COPYRIGHT,  1908, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped,    Published  November,  1908. 


J.  S.  Cushing  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


PREFACE 

ANY  book  that  helps  a  student  to  write  good  English 
need  not  apologize  for  its  publication.  The  present 
volume,  while  disclaiming  any  attempt  on  the  part  of 
its  editors  to  introduce  new  theories  in  a  subject  so  old 
as  Composition,  has  in  its  make-up  certain  practical 
features  which  should  prove  helpful  to  those  studying 
Exposition  and  Argument.  These  are  of  course  the 
practical  forms  of  discourse,  in  which  the  student  must 
become  proficient  whether  he  practice  the  other  forms 
or  not. 

The  selections  are  designedly  varied  in  length,  to 
admit  of  different  modes  of  treatment.  And  it  is  be- 
lieved that  the  interest  of  the  articles  is  sufficiently  diver- 
sified to  make  sure  of  an  appeal  to  every  class  of  readers. 
It  will  be  noted  that  many  articles  are  the  work  of  prac- 
tical men  of  affairs  rather  than  of  men  of  letters.  This 
should  be  in  the  nature  of  encouragement  to  those  who 
do  not  expect  to  make  letters  their  profession.  Indeed, 
many  of  the  selections  admit  of  imitation  both  as  to 
form  and  style. 

One  or  two  features  of  the  book  are,  as  far  as  the 
editors  know,  new  to  a  work  of  this  kind.  Included 
among  the  arguments  is  an  example  of  controversy, 

M176252 


vi  Preface 

which  is  important  as  illustrating  how  opposite  sides 
of  the  same  question  may  be  handled.  It  is  hoped 
that  the  short  treatises  on  Introductions  and  The 
Brief  will  be  found  of  sufficient  assistance  to  the 
student  to  justify  their  inclusion.  They  make  no  pre- 
tense at  bringing  forward  any  new  material  on  those 
subjects;  but  a  quite  general  haziness  in  the  mind  of 
the  student  in  regard  to  those  very  necessary  features  of 
Composition,  and  the  absence  in  the  rhetorics  of  any 
correlated  material  on  these  points,  has  made  this  brief 
treatment  of  them  seem  advisable. 

The  order  of  the  selections  under  Exposition  begins 
with  those  which,  while  essentially  expository,  have  still 
some  narrative  or  descriptive  features;  proceeds  with 
the  practical  and  more  common  types  of  Exposition,  as 
illustrated  by  the  essays  describing  a  process ;  is  followed 
by  examples  of  the  distinction  drawn  in  the  rhetorics 
between  definition  and  analysis ;  advances  with  some 
special  forms  (the  historical,  and  the  informal  essay), 
which  are  adapted  to  class-room  imitations ;  and  closes 
with  a  particular  type,  criticism. 

The  order  of  the  selections  under  Argument  en- 
deavors to  proceed  logically,  from  the  more  simple 
to  the  more  complex,  and  is  one  the  student  might  well 
observe  in  his  own  work  in  this  subject.  Beginning 
with  examples  of  the  broader  division  of  the  subject, 
Persuasion,  there  follows  a  specimen  brief  as  indicat- 
ing its  relation  to  a  complete  argument.  Examples  of 
introductions  appear  next,  a  feature  of  Argument  so 


Preface  vii 

vital  as  to  make  necessary  separate  treatment  here,  and 
to  suggest  the  emphasis  with  which  it  might  well  be 
treated  by  the  student.  There  follow  examples,  of 
complete  arguments,  arranged,  so  far  as  may  be,  in 
the  order  of  simplicity  of  structure  and  presentation. 
Refutation  is  illustrated  first  by  itself  and  then  also  in 
the  controversy  which  concludes  the  selections. 

The  punctuation  of  the  selections  has  been  un- 
altered. 

The  editors  acknowledge  very  gratefully  their  obli- 
gations, equally  to  the  authors  who  have  consented  to 
this  use  of  their  work,  and  to  the  publishers  who  have 
so  graciously  given  permission  to  reprint.  The  in- 
debtedness of  the  editors  to  the  latter  is  indicated  under 
each  selection.  The  authors  to  whom  thanks  are  due 
are  Mr.  John  Corbin,  Mr.  John  Burroughs,  Pro- 
fessor A.  E.  Kennelly,  Mr.  Edwin  T.  Stiger,  Professor 
George  H.  Palmer,  President  Arthur  T.  Hadley,  Pro- 
fessor William  James,  President  Charles  W.  Eliot,  Mr. 
Frank  A.  Vanderlip,  Mr.  John  La  Farge,  Mr.  Arthur 
C.  Benson,  Professor  Albert  B.  Hart,  Professor  George 
Santayana,  Mr.  Sidney  Curtis,  Mr.  George  E.  Roberts, 
President  Woodrow  Wilson,  Professor  Felix  Adler, 

Mr.  Henry  Arthur  Jones. 

M.  P. 

R.  A.  J. 
NEW  YORK,  N.Y., 

August,  1908. 


CONTENTS 


EXPOSITION 

Expository  Narration,  PAGE 
A  Day  in  an  Oxford  College          .         .         .     John  Corbin         I 

Expository  Description. 

Nature  in  England  ....        John  Burroughs       12 

Explanations  of  a  Process. 

How  Books  are  Made  ....       Edwin  T.  Stiger       18 

Wireless  Telegraphy  ....          A.  £.  Kennelly      34 

EXPOSITION  BY  DEFINITION 

Short  Definitions. 

Artist  and  Moralist        .         .         .         James  Russell  Lowell  47 

Religion  and  Morality  .         .         .      George  Herbert  Palmer  49 

"Value" Arthur  Twining  Hadley  52 

Longer  Definitions. 

Pathos  ..;....      Coventry  Patmore  54 

The  Social  Value  of  the  College-bred    .          William  James  60 

A  New  Definition  of  the  Cultivated  Man     Charles  W.  Eliot  72 

EXPOSITION  BY  ANALYSIS 

The  Young  Man's  Future     .        .         .  Frank  A.  Vanderlip  90 

The  Character  of  the  Indian          .         .  .     Francis  Parkman  98 

A  Study  of  Thoreau      ....  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  104 

The  Descent  from  the  Cross          .         .  .         .JohnLaFarge  109 

The  Informal  Essay. 

Habits Arthur  C.  Benson  1 12 

Historical  Exposition. 

Social  Life  in  America  .  .  .  Albert  Bushnell  Hart  122 
Criticism. 

Emerson George  Santayana     134 


Contents 


ARGUMENT 

Persuasion.  PAGft 

On  the  Reading  of  Newspapers     .      Henry  David  Thoreau  150 

The  Spirit  of  Devotion  .         .         .  Arthur  Twining  Hadley  155 

A  Brief Sidney  Curtis  166 

Introductions. 

The  Currency  Bill           .         .         .                Theodore  Oilman  182 

Race-track  Gambling The  Outlook  183 

National  Control  of  Interstate  Railways         .         .   Seth  Low  189 

Science  and  a  Future  Life     .         .         .        F.  W.  H.  Myers  195 

Arguments. 

Assumptions  are  not  Proof    ....    Lyman  Abbott  200 

Objections  to  a  Postal  Savings  Bank      .       George  E.  Roberts  204 

The  Training  of  Intellect       .         .         .       Woodrow  Wilson  215 

Child  Labor  in  the  United  States  .         .         .       Felix  Adler  225 

Corner  Stones  of  Modern  Drama  .          Henry  Arthur  Jones  245 

Is  Music  the  Type  or  Measure  of  All  Art?     .  J.  A.  Symonds  267 

Refutation. 

From  "The  Public  Duty  of  Educated  Men  "      G.  W.  Curtis  281 

From  the  Speech  on  Education     .         .         T.  B.  Macaulay  285 

From  "  Literary  Essays "        .         .         James  Russell  Lowell  288 

From  the  Cooper  Institute  Speech          .     Abraham  Lincoln  290 

Controversy. 

Science  and  Culture       ....    Thomas  H.  Huxley  294 

Literature  and  Science          .         .         .        Matthew  Arnold  311 

NOTES 341 


SPECIMENS 

OF 

EXPOSITION   AND   ARGUMENT 


EXPOSITION 

A   DAY  IN   AN   OXFORD   COLLEGE1 
JOHN  CORBIN 

WHEN  a  freshman  is  once  established  in  college,  his 
life  falls  into  a  pleasantly  varied  routine.  The  day  is 
ushered  in  by  the  scout,  who  bustles  into  the  bedroom, 
throws  aside  the  curtain,  pours  out  the  bath,  and  shouts, 
"Half  past  seven,  sir,"  in  a  tone  that  makes  it  impossi-  5 
ble  to  forget  that  chapel  —  or  if  one  chooses,  roll-call 
—  comes  at  eight.  Unless  one  keeps  his  six  chapels  or 
"rollers"  a  week,  he  is  promptly  "hauled"  before  the 
dean,  who  perhaps  "gates"  him.  To  be  gated  is  to  be 
forbidden  to  pass  the  college  gate  after  dark,  and  fined  10 
a  shilling  for  each  night  of  confinement.  To  an  Ameri- 
can all  this  brings  recollections  of  the  paternal  roof, 
where  tardiness  at  breakfast  meant,  perhaps,  the  loss 
of  dessert,  and  bedtime  an  hour  earlier.  I  remember 
once,  when  out  of  training,  deliberately  cutting  chapel  15 
to  see  with  what  mien  the  good  dean  performed  his 
nursery  duties.  His  calm  was  unruffled,  his  dignity 
unsullied.  I  soon  came  to  find  that  the  rules  about 
rising  were  bowed  to  and  indeed  respected  by  all  con- 

1  Reprinted    by   permission    from    "  An   American   at    Oxford." 
Copyright,  1902.     Boston,  Houghton,  Mifflin   &  Co. 
B  I 


2  Exposition 

cerned,  even  while  they  were  broken.  They  are  dis- 
tinctly more  lax  than  those  the  fellows  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  in  the  public  schools,  and  they  are  conceded 
to  be  for  the  best  welfare  of  the  college. 

Breakfast  comes  soon  after  chapel,  or  roll-call.     If  a    5 
man  has  "kept  a  dirty  roller,"  that  is,  has  reported  in 
pyjamas,  ulster,  and  boots,  and  has  turned  in  again, 
the  scout  puts  the  breakfast  before  the  fire  on  a  trestle 
built  of  shovel,  poker,  and  tongs,  where  it  remains  edi- 
ble until  noon.     If  a  man  has  a  breakfast  party  on,  the  10 
scout  makes  sure  that  he  is  stirring  in  season,  and, 
hurrying  through  the  other  rooms  on  the  staircase,  is 
presently  on  hand  for  as  long  as  he  may  be  wanted. 
The  usual  Oxford  breakfast  is  a  single  course,  which 
not  infrequently  consists  of  some  one  of  the  excellent  15 
English  pork  products,  with  an  egg  or  kidneys.     There 
may  be  two  courses,  in  which  case  the  first  is  of  the  no 
less  excellent  fresh  fish.     There  are  no  vegetables.    The 
breakfast  is  ended  with  toast  and  jam  or  marmalade. 
When  one  has  fellows  in  to  breakfast,  —  and  the  Ox-  20 
ford  custom  of  rooming  alone  instead  of  chumming 
makes  such  hospitality  frequent,  —  his  usual  meal  is 
increased  by  a  course,  say,  of  chicken.     In  any  case  it 
leads  to  a  morning  cigarette,  for  tobacco  aids  digestion, 
and  helps  fill  the  hour  or  so  after  meals  which  an  Eng-  25 
lishman  gives  to  relaxation. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  breakfast  may  be  interrupted  for  a 
moment  by  the  exit  of  some  one  bent  on  attending  a 
lecture,  though  one  apologizes  for  such  an  act  as  if  it 


A   Day  in  an  Oxford  College  3 

were  scarcely  good  form.  An  appointment  with  one's 
tutor  is  a  more  legitimate  excuse  for  leaving;  but  even 
this  is  always  an  occasion  for  an  applogy,  in  behalf  of 
the  tutor  of  course,  for  one  is  certainly  not  himself  re- 
sponsible. If  a  quorum  is  left,  they  manage  to  sit  com-  5 
fortably  by  the  fire,  smoking  and  chatting  in  spite  of 
lectures  and  tutors,  until  by  mutual  consent  they  scatter 
to  glance  at  the  Times  and  the  Sportsman  in  the  com- 
mon-room, or  even  to  get  in  a  bit  of  reading. 

Luncheon  often  consists  of  bread  and  cheese  and  jam  10 
from  the  buttery,  with  perhaps  a  half  pint  of  bitter  beer ; 
but  it  may,  like  the  breakfast,  come  from  the  college 
kitchen.     In  any  case  it  is  very  light,  for  almost  immedi- 
ately after  it  everybody  scatters  to  field  and  track  and 
river  for  the  exercise  that  the  English  climate  makes  15 
necessary  and  the  sport  that  the  English  temperament 
demands. 

By  four  o'clock  every  one  is  back  in  college  tubbed 
and  dressed  for  tea,  which  a  man  serves  himself  in  his 
rooms  to  as  many  fellows  as  he  has  been  able  to  gather  20 
in  on  field  or  river.  If  he  is  eager  to  hear  of  the  games 
he  has  not  been  able  to  witness,  he  goes  to  the  junior 
common-room  or  to  his  club,  where  he  is  sure  to  find  a 
dozen  or  so  of  kindred  spirits  representing  every  sport 
of  importance.  In  this  way  he  hears  the  minutest  de-  25 
tails  of  the  games  of  the  day  from  the  players  them- 
selves ;  and  before  nightfall  —  such  is  the  influence  of 
tea  —  those  bits  of  gossip  which  in  America  are  known 
chiefly  among  members  of  a  team  have  ramified  the 


4  Exposition 

college.  Thus  the  function  of  the  "bleachers"  on  an 
American  field  is  performed  with  a  vengeance  by  the 
easy-chairs  before  a  common-room  fire;  and  a  man 
had  better  be  kicked  off  the  team  by  an  American  cap- 
tain than  have  his  shortcomings  served  up  with  com-  5 
mon-room  tea. 

The  two  hours  between  tea  and  dinner  may  be,  and 
usually  are,  spent  in  reading. 

At  seven  o'clock  the  college  bell  rings,  and  in  two 
minutes  the  fellows  have  thrown  on  their  gowns  and  10 
are  seated  at  table,  where  the  scouts  are  in  readiness 
to  serve  them.     As  a  rule  a  man  may  sit  wherever  he 
chooses;  this  is  one  of  the  admirable  arrangements  for 
breaking  up  such  cliques  as  inevitably  form  in  a  college. 
But  in  point  of  fact  a  man  usually  ends  by  sitting  in  15 
some  certain  quarter  of  the  hall,  where  from  day  to 
day  he  finds  much  the  same  set  of  fellows.     Thus  all 
the  advantages  of  friendly  intercourse  are  attained  with- 
out any  real  exclusiveness.     This  may  seem  a  small 
point ;    but  an  hour  a  day  becomes  an  item  in  four  20 
years,  especially  if  it  is  the  hour  when  men  are  most 
disposed  to  be  companionable. 

In  the  evening,  when  the  season  permits,  the  fellows 
sit  out  of  doors  after  dinner,  smoking  and  playing 
bowls.  There  is  no  place  in  which  the  spring  comes  25 
more  sweetly  than  in  an  Oxford  garden.  The  high 
walls  are  at  once  a  trap  for  the  first  warm  rays  of  the 
sun  and  a  barrier  against  the  winds  of  March.  The 
daffodils  and  crocuses  spring  up  with  joy  as  the  gar- 


A   Day  in  an  Oxford  College  5 

dener  bids;  and  the  apple  and  cherry  trees  coddle 
against  the  warm  north  walls,  spreading  out  their  early 
buds  gratefully  to  the  mild  English  sun.  Eor  long, 
quiet  hours  after  dinner  they  flaunt  their  beauty  to  the 
fellows  smoking,  and  breathe  their  sweetness  to  the  fel-  5 
lows  playing  bowls.  "No  man,"  exclaims  the  Ameri- 
can visitor,  "  could  live  four  years  in  those  gardens  of 
delight  and  not  be  made  gentler  and  nobler!"  Per- 
haps !  though  not  altogether  in  the  way  the  visitor 
imagines.  When  the  flush  of  summer  is  on,  the  loi- 10 
terers  loll  on  the  lawn  full  length;  and  as  they  watch 
the  insects  crawl  among  the  grass  they  make  bets  on 
them,  just  as  the  gravest  and  most  reverend  seniors 
have  been  known  to  do  in  America. 

In  the  windows  overlooking  the  quadrangle  are  boxes  15 
of  brilliant  flowers,  above  which  the  smoke  of  a  pipe 
comes  curling  out.     At  Harvard  some  fellows  have  ge- 
raniums in  their  windows,  but  only  the  very  rich;   and 
when  they  began  the  custom  an  ancient  graduate  wrote 
one  of  those  communications  to  the  Crimson,  saying  20 
that  if  men  put  unmanly  boxes  of  flowers  in  the  win- 
dow, how  can  they  expect  to  beat  Yale  ?     Flower  boxes, 
no  sand.     At  Oxford  they  manage  things  so  that  any- 
body may  have  flower  boxes ;  and  their  associations  are 
by  no  means  unmanly.     This  is  the  way  they  do  it.  25 
In  the  early  summer  a  gardener's  wagon  from  the  coun- 
try draws  up  by  the  college  gate,  and  the  driver  cries, 
"Flowers  !     Flowers  for  a  pair  of  old  bags,  sir."     Bags 
is  of  course  the  fitting  term  for  English  trousers  — 


6  Exposition 

which  don't  fit;  and  I  should  like  to  inform  that  an- 
cient graduate  that  the  window  boxes  of  Oxford  sug- 
gest the  very  badge  of  manhood. 

As  long  as  the  English  twilight  lingers,  the  men  will 
sit  and  talk  and  sing  to  the  mandolin;    and  I  have   5 
heard  of  fellows  sitting  and  talking  all  night,  not  turn- 
ing in  until  the  porter  appeared  to  take  their  names  at 
roll-call.     On  the  eve  of  May  day  it  is  quite  the  cus- 
tom to  sit  out,  for  at  dawn  one  may  go  to  see  the  pretty 
ceremony  of  heralding  the  May  on  Magdalen  Tower.  10 
The  Magdalen  choir  boys  —  the  sweetest  songsters  in 
all  Oxford  —  mount  to  the  top  of  that  most  beautiful  of 
Gothic  towers,  and,  standing  among  the  pinnacles,  — 
pinnacles  afire  with  the  spirituality  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
that  warms  all  the  senses  with  purity  and  beauty,  —  15 
those  boys,  I  say,  on  that  tower  and  among  those  pinna- 
cles, open  their  mouths  and  sing  a  Latin  song  to  greet 
the  May.     Meantime,  the  fellows  who  have  come  out  to 
listen  in  the  street  below  make  catcalls  and  blow  fish 
horns.     The  song  above  is  the  survival  of  a  Romish,  20 
perhaps  a  Druidical,  custom;   the  racket  below  is  the 
survival  of  a  Puritan  protest.     That  is  Oxford  in  sym- 
bol !    Its  dignity  and  mellowness  are  not  so  much  a 
matter  of  flowering  gardens  and  crumbling  walls  as  of 
the  traditions  of  the  centuries  in  which  the  whole  life  25 
of  the  place  has  deep  sources;    and  the  noblest  of  its 
institutions  are  fringed  with  survivals  that  run  riot  in 
the  grotesque. 

If  a  man  intends  to  spend  the  evening  out  of  college, 


A  Day  in  an  Oxford  College  7 

he  has  to  make  a  dash  before  nine  o'clock ;  for  love  or 
for  money  the  porter  may  not  let  an  inmate  out  after 
nine.  One  man  I  knew  was  able  to  escape  by  guile. 
He  had  a  brother  in  Trinity  whom  he  very  much  re- 
sembled, and  whenever  he  wanted  to  go  out,  he  would  5 
tilt  his  mortarboard  forward,  wra^p  his  gown  high  about 
his  neck,  as  it  is  usually  worn  of  an  evening,  and  bid- 
ding the  porter  a  polite  good-night,  say,  "Charge  me  to 
my  brother,  Hancock,  if  you  please."  The  charge  is 
the  inconsiderable  sum  of  one  penny,  and  is  the  penalty  10 
of  having  a  late  guest.  Having  profited  by  my  experi- 
ence with  the  similar  charge  for  keeping  my  name  on 
the  college  books,  I  never  asked  its  why  and  wherefore. 
Both  are  no  doubt  survivals  of  some  mediaeval  custom, 
the  authority  of  which  no  college  employee  —  or  don,  15 
for  the  matter  of  that  —  would  question.  Such  matters 
interest  the  Oxford  man  quite  as  little  as  the  question 
how  he  comes  by  a  tonsil  or  a  vermiform  appendix. 
They  are  there,  and  he  makes  the  best  of  them. 

If  a  fellow  leaves  college  for  an  evening,  it  is  for  a  20 
foregathering  at  some  other  college,  or  to  go  to  the 
theatre.     As  a  rule  he  wears  a  cloth  cap.     A  "billy- 
cock" or  "bowler,"  as  the  pot  hat  is  called,  is  as  thor- 
oughly frowned  on  now  in    English  colleges  as  it  was 
with  us  a  dozen  years  ago.     As  for  the  mortarboard  and  25 
gown,  undergraduate  opinion  rather  requires  that  they 
be  left  behind.     This  is  largely,  no  doubt,  because  they 
are  required  by  law  to  be  worn.     So  far  as  the  under- 
graduates are  concerned,  every  operative  statute  of  the 


8  Exposition 

university,  with  the  exception  of  those  relating  to  ma- 
triculation and  graduation,   refers  to  conduct   in  the 
streets   after  nightfall,   and   almost  without   exception 
they  are  honored  in  the  breach.     This  is  out  of  disre- 
gard for  the  Vice-Chancellor  of  the  university,  who  is    5 
familiarly  called  the  Vice,  because  he  serves  as  a  warn- 
ing to  others  for  the  practice  of  virtue.     The  Vice  makes 
his  power  felt  in  characteristically  dark  and  tortuous 
ways.     His  factors  are  two  proctors,  college  dons  in 
daytime,  but  skulkers  after  nightfall,  each  of  whom  has  10 
his  bulldogs,  that  is,  scouts,  employed  literally  to  spy 
upon  the  students.     If  these  catch  you  without  cap 
or  gown,  they  cause  you  to  be  proctorized  or  "progged," 
as  it  is  called,  which  involves  a  matter  of  five  shillings 
or  so.     As  a  rule  there  is  little  danger  of  progging,  but  15 
my  first  term  fell  in  evil  days.     For  some  reason  or  other 
the  chest  of  the  university  showed  a  deficit  of  sundry 
pounds,  shillings,  and  pence ;  and  as  it  had  long  ceased 
to  need  or  receive  regular  bequests,  —  the  finance  of 
the  institution  being  in  the  hands  of  the  colleges, — a  20 
crisis  was  at  hand.     A  more  serious  problem  had  doubt- 
less never  arisen  since  the  great  question  was  solved  of 
keeping  undergraduates'   names  on  the  books.     The 
expedient  of  the  Vice- Chancellor  was  to  summon  the 
proctors,  and  bid  them  charge  their  bulldogs  to  prog  25 
all  freshmen  caught  at  night  without  cap  and  gown. 
The  deficit  in  the  university  chest  was  made  up  at  five 
shillings  a  head. 

One  of  the  Vice -Chancellor's  rules  is  that  no  under- 


A  Day  in  an  Oxford  College  g 

graduate  shall  enter  an  Oxford  "pub."  Now  the  only 
restaurant  in  town,  Queen's,  is  run  in  conjunction  with 
a  pub,  and  was  once  the  favorite  resort  of  all  who  were 
bent  on  breaking  the  monotony*  of  an  English  Sunday. 
The  Vice- Chancellor  resolved  to  destroy  this  den  of  5 
Sabbath-breaking,  and  the  undergraduates  resolved  no 
less  firmly  to  defend  their  stronghold.  The  result  was 
a  hand-to-hand  fight  with  the  bulldogs,  which  ended 
so  triumphantly  for  the  undergraduates  that  a  dozen  or 
more  of  them  were  sent  down.  In  the  articles  of  the  10 
peace  that  followed,  it  was  stipulated,  I  was  told,  that 
so  long  as  the  restaurant  was  closed  Sunday  afternoons 
and  nights,  it  should  never  suffer  from  the  visit  of 
proctor  or  bulldog.  As  a  result,  Queen's  is  a  great 
scene  of  undergraduate  foregather  ings.  The  dinners  15 
are  good  enough  and  reasonably  cheap;  and  as  most 
excellent  champagne  is  to  be  had  at  twelve  shillings  the 
bottle,  the  diners  are  not  unlikely  to  get  back  to  college 
a  trifle  buffy,  in  the  Oxford  phrase. 

By  an  interesting  survival  of  mediaeval  custom,  the  20 
Vice- Chancellor  has  supreme  power  over  the  morals  of 
the  town,  and  any  citizen  who  transgresses  his  laws  is 
visited  with  summary  punishment.     For  a  tradesman 
or  publican  to  assist  in  breaking  university  rules  means 
outlawry  and  ruin,  and  for  certain  offenses  a  citizen  25 
may  be  punished  by  imprisonment.     Over  the  Oxford 
theatre  the  Vice-Chancellor's  power  is   absolute.     In 
my  time  he  was  much  more  solicitous  that  the  under- 
graduate be  kept  from  knowledge  of  the  omnipresent 


IO  Exposition 

woman  with  a  past  than  that  dramatic  art  should 
flourish,  and  forbade  the  town  to  more  than  one  ex- 
cellent play  of  the  modern  school  of  comedy  that  had 
been  seen  and  discussed  in  London  by  the  younger 
sisters  of  the  undergraduates.  The  woman  with  a  5 
present  is  virtually  absent. 

Time  was  when  no  Oxford  play  was  quite  successful 
unless  the  undergraduates  assisted  at  its  first  night, 
though  in  a  way  very  different  from  that  which  the 
term  denotes  in  France.  The  assistance  was  of  the  10 
kind  so  generously  rendered  in  New  York  and  Boston 
on  the  evening  of  an  athletic  contest.  Even  to-day, 
just  for  tradition's  sake,  the  undergraduates  sometimes 
make  a  row.  A  lot  of  B.  N.  C.  men,  as  the  clanny  sons 
of  Brazenose  College  call  themselves,  may  insist  that  15 
an  opera  stop  while  the  troupe  listen  to  one  of  their  own 
excellent  vocal  performances;  and  I  once  saw  a  great 
sprinter,  not  unknown  to  Yale  men,  rise  from  his  seat, 
face  the  audience,  and,  pointing  with  his  thumb  over 
his  shoulder  at  the  soubrette,  announce  impressively,  20 
"Do  you  know,  I  rather  like  that  girl!"  The  show 
is  usually  over  just  before  eleven,  and  then  occurs  an 
amusing,  if  unseemly,  scramble  to  get  back  to  college 
before  the  hour  strikes.  A  man  who  stays  out  after 
ten  is  fined  threepence,  after  eleven  the  fine  is  sixpence.  25 
When  all  is  said,  why  shouldn't  one  sprint  for  three- 
pence ? 

If  you  stay  out  of  college  after  midnight,  the  dean 
makes  a  star  chamber  offense  of  it,  fines  you  a  "  quid"  or 


A   Day  in  an  Oxford  College  n 

two,  and  like  as  not  sends  you  down.  This  sounds  a 
trifle  worse  than  it  is;  for  if  you  must  be  away,  your 
absence  can  usually  be  arranged  for.  If  you  find  your- 
self in  the  streets  after  twelve,  you  may  rap  on  some 
friend's  bedroom  window  and  tell  him  of  your  plight  5 
through  the  iron  grating.  He  will  then  spend  the  first 
half  of  the  night  in  your  bed  and  wash  his  hands  in 
your  bowl.  With  such  evidence  as  this  to  support  him, 
the  scout  is  not  apt,  if  sufficiently  retained,  to  report  a 
suspected  absence.  I  have  even  known  fellows  to  make  10 
their  arrangements  in  advance  and  spend  the  night  in 
town;  but  the  ruse  has  its  dangers,  and  the  penalty 
is  to  be  sent  down  for  good  and  all. 

It  is  owing  to  such  regulations  as  these  that  life  in 
the  English  college  has  the  name  of  being  cloistral.  15 
Just  how  cloistral  it  is  in  spirit  no  one  can  know  who 
has  not  taken  part  in  a  rag  in  the  quad;  and  this  is 
impossible  to  an  outsider,  for  at  midnight  all  visitors 
are  required  to  leave,  under  a  heavy  penalty  to  their 
host.  20 


NATURE  IN  ENGLAND1 
JOHN  BURROUGHS 

THE  dominant  impression  of  the  English  landscape 
is  repose.  Never  was  such  a  restful  land  to  the  eye, 
especially  to  the  American  eye,  sated  as  it  is  very  apt 
to  be  with  the  mingled  squalor  and  splendor  of  its  own 
landscape,  its  violent  contrasts,  and  general  spirit  of  5 
unrest.  But  the  completeness  and  composure  of  this 
outdoor  nature  is  like  a  dream.  It  is  like  the  poise  of 
the  tide  at  its  full:  every  hurt  of  the  world  is  healed, 
every  shore  covered,  every  unsightly  spot  is  hidden. 
The  circle  of  the  horizon  is  brimming  with  the  green  10 
equable  flood.  (I  did  not  see  the  fens  of  Lincolnshire 
nor  the  wolds  of  York.)  This  look  of  repose  is  partly 
the  result  of  the  maturity  and  ripeness  brought  about 
by  time  and  ages  of  patient  and  thorough  husbandry, 
and  partly  the  result  of  the  gentle,  continent  spirit  of  15 
Nature  herself.  She  is  contented,  she  is  happily 
wedded,  she  is  well  clothed  and  fed.  Her  offspring 
swarm  about  her,  her  paths  have  fallen  in  pleasant 
places.  The  foliage  of  the  trees,  how  dense  and 
massive!  The  turf  of  the  fields,  how  thick  and  uni-  20 
form !  The  streams  and  rivers,  how  placid  and  full, 

1  Reprinted     by    permission    from     "  Fresh     Fields."      Boston, 
Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co. 


Nature  in  England  13 

showing  no  devastated  margins,  no  widespread  sandy 
wastes  and  unsightly  heaps  of  drift  bowlders !  To  the 
returned  traveler  the  foliage  of  the  trees  and  groves  of 
New  England  and  New  York  looks  thin  and  disheveled 
when  compared  with  the  foliage  he  has  just  left.  This  5 
effect  is  probably  owing  to  our  cruder  soil  and  sharper 
climate.  The  aspect  of  our  trees  in  midsummer  is  as 
if  the  hair  of  their  heads  stood  on  end ;  the  woods  have 
a  wild,  frightened  look,  or  as  if  they  were  just  recovering 
from  a  debauch.  In  our  intense  light  and  heat,  the  10 
leaves,  instead  of  spreading  themselves  full  to  the  sun 
and  crowding  out  upon  the  ends  of  the  branches  as  they 
do  in  England,  retreat,  as  it  were,  hide  behind  each 
other,  stand  edgewise,  perpendicular,  or  at  any  angle, 
to  avoid  the  direct  rays.  In  Britain,  from  the  slow,  drip-  15 
ping  rains  and  the  excessive  moisture,  the  leaves  of  the 
trees  droop  more,  and  the  branches  are  more  pendent. 
The  rays  of  light  are  fewer  and  feebler,  and  the  foliage 
disposes  itself  so  as  to  catch  them  all,  and  thus  presents 
a  fuller  and  broader  surface  to  the  eye  of  the  benolder.  20 
The  leaves  are  massed  upon  the  outer  ends  of  the 
branches,  while  the  interior  of  the  tree  is  comparatively 
leafless.  The  European  plane  tree  is  like  a  tent.  The 
foliage  is  all  on  the  outside.  The  bird  voices  in  it 
reverberate  as  in  a  chamber.  25 

The  pillar'd  dusk  of  sounding  sycamores, 
says  Tennyson.     At  a  little  distance,  it  has  the  mass 
and  solidity  of  a  rock.     The  same  is  true  of  the  Euro- 
pean maple,  and  when  this  tree  is  grown  on  our  side  of 


14  Exposition 

the  Atlantic  it  keeps  up  its  Old  World  habits.  I  have 
for  several  years  taken  note  of  a  few  of  them  growing  in 
a  park  near  my  home.  They  have  less  grace  and  deli- 
cacy of  outline  than  our  native  maple,  but  present  a 
darker  and  more  solid  mass  of  foliage.  The  leaves  are  5 
larger  and  less  feathery,  and  are  crowded  to  the  periph- 
ery of  the  tree.  Nearly  every  summer  one  of  the  trees, 
which  is  most  exposed,  gets  the  leaves  on  one  side  badly 
scorched.  When  the  foliage  begins  to  turn  in  the  fall, 
the  trees  appear  as  if  they  had  been  lightly  and  hastily  10 
brushed  with  gold.  The  outer  edges  of  the  branches 
become  a  light  yellow,  while,  a  little  deeper,  the  body 
of  the  foliage  is  still  green.  It  is  this  solid  and  sculp- 
turesque character  of  the  English  foliage  that  so  fills  the 
eye  of  the  artist.  The  feathery,  formless,  indefinite,  not  15 
to  say  thin,  aspect  of  our  leafage  is  much  less  easy  to 
paint,  and  much  less  pleasing  when  painted. 

The  same  is  true  of  the  turf  in  the  fields  and  upon 
the  hills.     The  sward  with  us,  even  in  the  oldest  mead- 
ows, will  wear  more  or  less  a  ragged,  uneven  aspect.  20 
The  frost  heaves  it,  the  sun  parches  it ;  it  is  thin  here 
and  thick  there,  crabbed  in  one  spot  and  fine  and  soft 
in  another.     Only  by  the  frequent  use  of  a  heavy  roller, 
copious  waterings,  and  top  dressings,  can  we  produce 
sod  that  approaches  in  beauty  even  that  of  the  elevated  25 
sheep  ranges  in  England  and  Scotland. 

The  greater  activity  and  abundance  of  the  earth- 
worm, as  disclosed  by  Darwin,  probably  has  much  to 
do  with  the  smoothness  and  fatness  of  those  fields  when 


Nature  in  England  15 

contrasted  with  our  own.  This  little  yet  mighty 
engine  is  much  less  instrumental  in  leavening  and 
leveling  the  soil  in  New  England  than  in  Old.  The 
gj-eater  humidity  of  the  mother  country,  the  deep  clayey 
soil,  its  fattening  for  ages  by  human  occupancy,  the  5 
abundance  of  food,  the  milder  climate,  etc.,  are  all 
favorable  to  the  life  and  activity  of  the  earthworm. 
Indeed,  according  to  Darwin,  the  gardener  that  has 
made  England  a  garden  is  none  other  than  this  little 
obscure  creature.  It  plows,  drains,  airs,  pulverizes,  10 
fertilizes,  and  levels.  It  cannot  transport  rocks  and 
stone,  but  it  can  bury  them;  it  cannot  remove  the 
ancient  walls  and  pavements,  but  it  can  undermine  them 
and  deposit  its  rich  castings  above  them.  On  each 
acre  of  land,  he  says,  "in  many  parts  of  England,  a  15 
weight  of  more  than  ten  tons  of  dry  earth  annually  passes 
through  their  bodies  and  is  brought  to  the  surface." 
"When  we  behold  a  wide,  turf-covered  expanse/'  he 
further  observes,  "we  should  remember  that  its  smooth- 
ness, on  which  so  much  of  its  beauty  depends,  is  mainly  20 
due  to  all  the  inequalities  having  been  slowly  leveled 
by  worms." 

The  small  part  which  worms  play  in  this  direction 
in  our  landscape  is,  I  am  convinced,  more  than  neu- 
tralized by  our  violent  or  disrupting  climate;  but  25 
England  looks  like  the  product  of  some  such  gentle, 
tireless,  and  beneficent  agent.  I  have  referred  to  that 
effect  in  the  face  of  the  landscape  as  if  the  soil  had 
snowed  down ;  it  seems  the  snow  came  from  the  other 


1 6  Exposition 

direction,  namely,  from  below,  but  was  deposited  with 
equal  gentleness  and  uniformity. 

The  repose  and  equipoise  of  nature  of  which  I  have 
spoken  appears  in  the  fields  of  grain  no  less  than  in  the 
turf  and  foliage.  One  may  see  vast  stretches  of  wheat,  5 
oats,  barley,  beans,  etc.,  as  uniform  as  the  surface  of  a 
lake,  every  stalk  of  grain  or  bean  the  size  and  height  of 
every  other  stalk.  This,  of  course,  means  good  hus- 
bandry; it  means  a  mild,  even-tempered  nature  back 
of  it,  also.  Then  the  repose  of  the  English  landscape  10 
is  enhanced,  rather  than  marred,  by  the  part  man  has 
played  in  it.  How  those  old  arched  bridges  rest  above 
the  placid  streams;  how  easily  they  conduct  the  trim, 
perfect  highways  over  them !  Where  the  foot  finds  an 
easy  way,  the  eye  finds  the  same;  where  the  body  finds  15 
harmony,  the  mind  finds  harmony.  Those  ivy-covered 
walls  and  ruins,  those  finished  fields,  those  rounded 
hedgerows,  those  embowered  cottages,  and  that  gray, 
massive  architecture,  all  contribute  to  the  harmony  and 
to  the  repose  of  the  landscape.  Perhaps  in  no  other  20 
country  are  the  grazing  herds  so  much  at  ease.  One's 
first  impression,  on  seeing  British  fields  in  spring  or 
summer,  is  that  the  cattle  and  sheep  have  all  broken  into 
the  meadow  and  have  not  yet  been  discovered  by  the 
farmer ;  they  have  taken  their  fill,  and  are  now  reposing  25 
upon  the  grass  or  dreaming  under  the  trees.  But  you 
presently  perceive  that  it  is  all  meadow  or  meadow-like ; 
that  there  are  no  wild,  weedy,  or  barren  pastures  about 
which  the  herds  toil;  but  that  they  are  in  grass  up  to 


Nature  in  England  17 

their    eyes    everywhere.      Hence    their    contentment; 
hence  another  element  of  repose  in  the  landscape. 

The  softness  and  humidity  of  the  English  climate 
aci;  in  two  ways  in  promoting  that  marvelous  greenness 
of  the  land,  namely,  by  growth  and  by  decay.     As  the    5 
grass  springs  quickly,  so  its  matured  stalk  or  dry  leaf 
decays  quickly.     No  field  growths  are  desiccated  and 
preserved  as  with  us;   there  are  no  dried  stubble  and 
seared  leaves  remaining  over  the  winter  to  mar  and 
obscure  the  verdancy  of  spring.     Every  dead  thing  is  10 
quickly    converted   back   to   vegetable  mold.     In  the 
woods,  in  May,  it  is  difficult  to  find  any  of  the  dry 
leaves  of  the  previous  autumn ;  in  the  fields  and  copses 
and  along  the  highways,  no  stalk  of  weed  or  grass 
remains;   while  our  wild,  uplying  pastures  and  moun-  15 
tain  tops  always  present  a  more  or  less  brown  and 
seared  appearance  from  the  dried  and  bleached  stalks 
of  the  growth  of  the  previous  year,  through  which  the 
fresh-springing  grass  is  scarcely  visible.     Where  rain 
falls  on  nearly  three  hundred  days  in  the  year,  as  in  the  20 
British  islands,  the  conversion  of  the  mold  into  grass, 
and  vice  versa,  takes  place  very  rapidly. 


HOW  BOOKS  ARE  MADE1 
EDWIN  T.  STIGER 

EACH  year  the  American  publishers  place  on  the 
market  something  over  eight  thousand  new  publica- 
tions, the  editions  of  which  range  from  the  aristocratic 
few  of  the  expensive  limited  editions  to  the  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  the  "best  sellers."  Each  one  of  these  5 
new  books  represents  an  individual  effort  on  the  part 
of  the  author  and  the  publisher  to  place  something 
new  in  a  new  way  before  the  public,  to  turn  out  a  book 
which  some  appreciable  portion  of  the  millions  of  book- 
buying  inhabitants  of  this  country  can  be  made  to  think  10 
that  it  wants. 

Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  as  a  reader  of  a  portion  of 
this  great  output  that  the  laying  out  and  manufacture 
of  this  mass  of  reading  matter  calls  for  the  employment 
of  an  immense  force  of  professionally  trained  minds  15 
outside  of  the  thousands  who  labor  in  the  carrying  out 
of  the  details  arranged  for  them ;  that  every  new  book 
which  appears  means  the  study  and  application  of  ideas 
stored  away  in  the  brain  of  some  one  man  or  some  little 
group  of  men  who  are  spending  their  lives  in  the  work  20 
of  producing  books  attractive  to  the   purchaser,  and 

1  Reprinted  by  permission  from  The  Independent, 
18 


How  Books  are  Made  19 

that  each  of  these  men  must  have  a  general  knowledge, 
at  least,  of  all  branches  of  work  that  enter  into  the 
making  of  a  book,  not  only  of  the  idiosyncrasies  of  the 
English  language,  with  its  shading  of  punctuation,  of 
types  and  typographical  eccentricities,  of  the  technicali-  5 
ties  of  electrotyping,  paper-making,  photo -engraving, 
printing  and  bookbinding,  but  of  every  one  of  these  and 
its  related  branches? 

Here,  then,  is  the  story  of  the  making  of  a  book. 

When  a  publisher  receives  a  manuscript  from  an  10 
author  he  gives  it  out  to  one  of  his  readers,  one  of  a 
force  upon  which  he  relies  for  opinions  as  to  the  advisa- 
bility of  publishing  or  probable  salability  after  pub- 
lishing.    These  readers  are  generally  persons  who  have 
been  well  trained  in  the  merits  or  demerits  of  popularity  15 
or  authority,  and  in  spite  of  occasional  errors  of  judg- 
ment   inseparable    from   work   of   this   nature,    have 
developed    exceptional    ability    in    this    line.     If    the 
manuscript  appears  hopeless  for  this  particular  pub- 
lisher's use  it  will  probably  pass  through  the  hands  of  20 
but  one  or  two  readers.     If,  however,  it  shows  prospects 
of  success,  it  will  be  placed  before  several  of  these 
experts,  each  of  whom  will  deliver  an  opinion,  and  it 
will  go  for  final  consideration  to  the  head  of  the  editorial 
force  or  a  member  of  the  publishing  firm.     Let  us  25 
consider  that  the  manuscript  has  been  accepted  and 
the  contract  drawn  up  and  signed  by  the  author  and 
the  publisher.     The  next  step  is  the  sending  of  the 
manuscript  to  the  head  of  the  manufacturing  depart- 


2o  Exposition 

ment  of  the  publishing  house.  This  gentleman  gener- 
ally tries  to  talk  the  book  over  with  the  author,  in  an 
effort  to  include  as  many  of  his  ideas  in  the  production 
as  may  be  possible  considering  the  limits  and  the  cost 
of  manufacture.  He  is  then  ready  to  begin  the  building  5 
of  the  book. 

Of  course,  if  a  new  volume  is  to  be  added  to  a  series 
which  has  already  been  begun,  or  if  it  is  to  be  patterned 
after  some  book  which  has  already  been  made,  the  plan 
of  procedure  is  simple,  the  work  to  a  great  extent  10 
merely  mechanical.  If  the  book,  however,  must  be  con- 
structed on  lines  of  its  own,  the  first  thing  to  be  done 
is  to  obtain  a  count  of  the  number  of  words  the  manu- 
script contains.  This  is  necessary  as  giving  a  gauge 
from  which  to  determine  the  size  of  type  and  of  the  type  15 
page,  and  to  arrive  approximately  at  the  number  of 
pages  the  book  will  make.  This  counting  is  not  as 
easy  as  it  sounds,  and  it  is  quite  an  art  to  do  it  accu- 
rately, since  manuscript  will  vary  considerably  in 
different  parts,  and  often  the  "copy,"  as  the  manuscript  20 
now  becomes  called,  is  made  up  of  writing  by  different 
hands,  or  of  magazine  or  newspaper  extracts  of  varying 
sizes  pasted  or  laid  in.  Then,  too,  the  different  sizes 
of  types  to  be  used  must  be  considered,  for  long  quota- 
tions or  correspondence  must  be  set  in  a  different  size  25 
from  the  text,  and  the  estimator  will  also  find  that 
portions  of  the  same  manuscript  will  vary  materially, 
according  to  the  nature  of  the  subject.  For  instance, 
in  a  novel,  a  part  given  up  to  broken  or  short  conversa- 


How  Books  are  Made  21 

tion  will  carry  more  words  to  a  page  than  a  similar 
amount  of  longer  worded  description.  The  words 
having  been  counted,*the  next  proceeding  is  to  decide 
on  the  type  and  type  page. 

While  in  the  selection  of  type  there  are  many  fonts    5 
from  which  to  choose,  most  of  them,  except  for  the  more 
ornamental  styles  often  used  for  booklets  and  special 
gift  books,  narrow  themselves  down  to  adaptations  of 
three  or  four  faces,  their  variations  being  due  to  pecul- 
iarities in  the  cut  of  the  letters  belonging  to  one  or  the  10 
other  of  these  few  standard  styles.     Some  of  these  ad- 
aptations will  get  more  letters  on  a  line  of  a  given  length, 
and  some  less,  than  others  set  in  the  same  size  of  type. 
In  addition  to  the  changes  of  types  the  manufacturing 
man  is  allowed  some  leeway  by  the  "  leading/'  or  blanks  15 
between  the  lines  of  type.     Having  decided  whether 
the  book  is  to  be  of  approximately  the  size  known  by 
the  book-buying  public  as   "octavo"  or  "i2mo,"  or 
some  such  designation,  it  is  his  work  to  settle  upon  a 
type  and  type  page  which  will  not  run  the  book  to  such  20 
a  length  as  to  make  its  publishing  too  expensive,  or,  on 
the  other  hand,  to  make  a  book  so  small  that  the  buyer 
will  feel  that  he  is  not  getting  the  worth  of  his  money. 
In  all  of  this  he  is  bound  down  by  the  fact  that  his  type 
page,  whatever  it  is,  must  not  be  laid  out  contrary  to  25 
certain  proportions  which  the  good  taste  of  the  past  has 
made  definite.     After  getting  these  matters  worked  out 
he  sends  the  manuscript  to  the  printer  with  instructions 
for  a  sample  page  to  be  set  to  confirm  him  in  his  deci- 


22  Exposition 

sion,  and  often  with  a  request  to  the  printer  to  count 
the  words  and  verify  his  estimate  of  the  number  of  pages. 
Very  often  this  sample  page  must  be  juggled,  a  line 
added,  a  fraction  of  an  inch  taken  off,  a  page  number 
put  at  the  foot,  a  running  head  changed  in  style,  or  even  5 
an  entirely  new  start  made  on  an  entirely  different  basis 
before  an  O.  K.  can  be  given.  It  might  be  said  here 
that  unless  a  manuscript  offers  unusual  features  a  pub- 
lisher does  not  necessarily  ask  the  printer  for  an  estimate 
of  cost,  for  the  manufacturing  man  has  a  schedule  of  10 
the  printer's  prices  and  can  figure  this  out  for  himself 
as  closely  as  the  printer  himself  could  do  it. 

The  sample  page  having  finally  been  approved,  the 
order  is  given  to  begin  the  work,  the  printer  is  told  how 
many  proofs  will  be  required  and  where  they  are  to  be  15 
sent,  and  the  last  details  about  any  irregularities  to  be 
met  in  the  work  are  put  in  his  hands.  The  printer  starts 
his  compositors  to  work,  or,  if  the  book  is  to  be  set 
by  machine,  arranges  for  the  machines  and  operators 
who  are  to  begin  the  composition,  and  the  kind  of  prog-  20 
ress  that  can  be  seen  commences.  Then  follows  the 
period  of  proofs  and  proof  reading.  The  first  proof, 
which  is  a  galley  proof,  or  one  "pulled"  (printed)  on 
long  slips  of  paper  without  any  division  into  pages,  is 
read  and  corrected  several  times  before  it  leaves  the  25 
printer's  hands  and  is  then  read  and  marked  for  correc- 
tion by  the  author  and  by  some  of  the  publisher's  edi- 
torial force  before  its  return  to  the  printer.  If  the  cor- 
rections required  are  many,  it  is  customary  to  have 


How  Books  are  Made  23 

further  galley  proofs,  or  "galley  revises,"  sent  out,  so 
that  the  changes  may  be  reduced  to  a  minimum  before 
the  matter  is  made  up  into  pages,  when  all  corrections 
are  apt  to  be  more  expensive  to  the  publisher  or  author 
than  if  made  in  the  galleys.  Then,  all  the  palpable  5 
errors  having  been  corrected,  and  all  the  additions  and 
excisions  made  which  have  up  to  that  time  been  dis- 
covered by  the  author,  the  type  is  put  into  page  form, 
the  running  heads  and  the  page  numbers  added,  and 
the  proper  sinkage  allowed  for  the  beginnings  of  chap-  10 
ters.  More  proofs  follow,  and  perhaps  page  revises, 
before  the  final  word  is  given  that  everything  is  correct 
and  that  electrotypes  of  the  pages  may  now  be  made. 
Even  then  a  plate  proof  is  often  required  and  oftentimes 
late  corrections  are  sent  to  be  made  in  the  plates  them-  15 
selves  —  an  expensive  proceeding,  and  one  avoided 
whenever  possible. 

A  word  should  here  be  said  about  this  matter  of  cor- 
rections, for  there  is  probably  no  one  thing  which  causes 
as  much  friction  between  the  author  and  the  publisher,  20 
and  the  publisher  and  printer,  as  alterations  from  copy. 
The  author,  when  he  sees  his  work  in  type,  naturally 
sees  many  things  which  escaped  his  notice  in  manuscript 
form.  Moreover,  there  are  often  new  developments  of 
his  subject  or  suggestions  from  friends  brought  to  his  25 
notice,  all  of  which  he  is  anxious  to  include  in  his  first 
edition.  He  cannot  understand  why  just  a  few  words 
added  here  or  a  line  taken  out  there  should,  when  re- 
peated now  and  then,  make  such  a  seemingly  excessive 


24  Exposition 

bill  of  errors.  Such  changes,  however,  which  appear 
to  him  to  be  very  slight,  and  which  are  so  judging  by 
their  length,  may  require  the  changing  of  words  and 
spaces  throughout  several  lines,  or,  after  paging,  the  re- 
adjustment of  a  number  of  pages.  All  of  this  takes  a  5 
compositor's  time,  the  printer  has  to  pay  the  compositor 
for  this  time,  and  at  the  end  of  the  work  a  considerable 
bill  is  rendered.  If  the  author  or  editor  will  only  remem- 
ber that  where  a  word  or  a  sentence  is  taken  out,  another 
word  or  sentence  as  near  the  same  length  as  possible  10 
should  be  inserted  whenever  it  can  be  done,  or  if  he  can 
cut  out  enough  old  matter  to  allow  space  for  new  he 
may  wish  to  add,  much  wear  and  tear  of  feelings  might 
be  saved. 

The  making  of  the  electrotype  plates,  although  an  15 
intensely  interesting  process,  need  not  be  taken  up  in 
this  article.     It  is  enough  to  say  of  it  that  the  type  is 
pressed  in  page  form  into  a  waxen  mold,  that  the  mold 
is  placed  in  a  bath  having  copper  in  solution,  that  this 
copper  is  deposited  on  the  mold  by  an  electric  current  20 
and   chemical  action,  taking  an  exact   impression  of 
it,  and  that  this  copper  shell,  when  backed  with  metal 
and  trimmed  to  the  required  size,  is  ready  for  the  print- 
ing press. 

All  this  time,  while  the  proofs  are  going  back  and  forth,  25 
while  the  corrections  are  being  made,  and  while  the  elec- 
trotypes are  being  produced,  the  manufacturing  man 
is  busily  arranging  the  later  details  of  the  book.     He  is 
ordering  the  paper,  seeing  that  it  is  delivered  in  time, 


How  Books  are  Made  25 

arranging  with  the  artist  for  illustrations  if  the  book 
is  to  be  embellished  in  that  way,  deciding  upon  the  cover 
'  decoration  and  the  binding,  and  perhaps  even  getting 
out  partially  finished  books  showing  the  binding  and  a 
few  pages  of  printed  matter  from  which  the  salesmen  5 
can  take  orders. 

As  soon  as  enough  of  the  book  is  in  type  to  insure 
accuracy  as  to  the  number  of  pages,  or  often  merely 
taking  the  original  estimate  as  a  basis  for  the  order, 
steps  must  be  taken  to  have  the  paper  on  hand  as  soon  10 
as  the  electrotyping  has  been  finished.  When  the  size 
of  the  edition  will  permit  it,  the  paper  is  generally  made 
to  order,  a  process  requiring  from  two  weeks  up,  ac- 
cording to  the  amount  of  business  the  paper  mills  are 
handling  at  the  time.  If  the  edition  is  small,  or  if  such  15 
a  paper  is  to  be  used  as  may  readily  be  found  in  the 
stock  regularly  carried  by  a  paper  dealer,  the  paper  is 
ordered  from  this  stock,  cutting  it  down  to  the  proper 
size  if  the  sheet  required  is  smaller  than  the  sizes  ordi- 
narily sold.  The  manufacturing  man  must  decide  upon  20 
the  quality  of  the  paper  to  be  used,  its  size,  weight  and 
finish,  where  it  is  to  be  obtained,  how  much  is  to  be  paid 
'for  it,  and  how  large  a  quantity  is  to  be  used.  He  must 
obtain  samples  from  different  mills,  consider  these  in 
relation  to  the  price  asked,  make  his  decision  and  place  25 
his  order,  and  then,  often  the  hardest  work  of  all,  follow 
up  the  paper  men  incessantly  to  make  sure  that  it  is  on 
the  spot  when  it  is  wanted.  The  type  page  being  fixed, 
he  allows  for  the  proper  margins,  considers  whether  he 


26  Exposition 

will  print  eight,  sixteen,  thirty-two  or  sixty-four  pages 
at  one  impression,  and  then  figures  the  quantity  by  a 
scale  which  allows  enough  extra  sheets  for  spoilage  in 
the  printing  and  binding.  While  all  of  this  work  may 
sound  as  a  simple  proposition,  it  is  often  far  from  that,  5 
for  the  paper  must  be  chosen  with  some  regard  for  the 
face  of  type  which  is  to  be  used  upon  it,  and  it  must 
very  often  be  selected  with  a  view  toward  making  a  too 
fat  book  thin  and  easy  to  hold,  or  toward  padding  out  a 
small,  insignificant  book  into  something  worth  while  10 
to  a  prospective  purchaser. 

While  the  proofs  are  shuttling  back  and  forth  and 
while  the  paper  is  being  made,  it  is  also  time  for  the 
supervisor  of  the  work  to  be  closing  in  any  of  the  illus- 
trative and  decorative  portions  of  the  book.  If  cuts  are  15 
to  print  with  the  text,  the  drawings  and  the  cuts  must 
be  made  in  advance,  in  order  not  to  hold  back  the  pag- 
ing ;  if,  however,  the  cuts  are  to  print  separately  and  are 
to  be  pasted  in  by  the  binder,  the  work  may  be  carried 
on  while  the  composition  is  being  done,  the  manuscript  20 
having  been  given  the  artist  to  read  in  advance  of  its 
being  sent  to  the  printer,  or  an  early  set  of  proofs  sent 
him,  that  he  may  choose  the  situations  that  appeal  to  him 
for  illustration.  In  a  general  way  it  may  be  said  that 
the  illustrative  processes  are  two  in  number,  although  25 
these  branch  out  into  infinity  in  their  variations,  and 
although  there  are  more  than  these  two  and  their  varia- 
tions required  in  special  work.  The  two  in  question, 
used  in  the  general  run  of  books  sold  at  retail,  are  the 


How  Books  are  Made  27 

line  cut,  or  zinc  etching,  made  from  line  drawings  and 
drawings  with  solid  blacks  and  whites,  and  the  half 
tone,    made   from   photographs   and   wash   drawings. 
Both  of  these  cuts,  or  engravings,  are  made  by  photog- 
raphy and  chemical  action,  both  may  be  reduced,  or    5 
even  enlarged  to  a  certain  degree,  to  any  size  propor- 
tional to  the  original  subject,  and  both  may  be  printed 
at  the  same  time  as  the  text  pages,  except  for  the  fact  that 
the  finish  of  the  paper  must  be  adapted  to  the  cuts. 
The  line  cut  may  be  used  on  any  paper  whose  surface  10 
is  smooth  enough  to  print  without  breaking  the  printed 
line,  but  the  half  tone,  on  account  of  its  delicacy  of  line, 
may  be  used  only  on  a  coated  paper  or  a  paper  of  high 
finish.     The  printing  of  colored  illustrations  is  simply 
the  adaptation  of  one  or  the  other  of  these  two  processes,  15 
breaking  up  the  colors  of  a  picture  in  such  a  way  as  to 
produce  practically  any  of  the  colors  of  the  spectrum  — 
a  complete  art  in  itself  and  often  carried  out  by  printers 
who  do  no  other  kind  of  work,  or  else  the  arbitrary  divi- 
sion of  a  picture  into  two  or  three  colors  and  the  printing  20 
of  portions  in  each  color,  without  regard  to  the  fact  that 
the  combination  of  two  certain  colors  will  produce  a 
third.     Unless  a  book  is  so  filled  with  cuts  as  to  require 
a  highly  finished  or  a  coated  paper  throughout,  it  is 
customary  to  print  the  cuts  separately  from  the  text.        25 

Another  of  the  artistic  features  to  be  looked  after 
before  the  presswork  has  been  completed  is  the  design- 
ing of  the  cover  and  the  making  of  the  brass  dies  from 
which  the  binder  stamps  the  design  on  the  outside  of 


28  Exposition 

the  book.  The  artist  to  whom  is  delegated  the  work  of 
making  the  cover  design  submits  a  scheme  in  its  colors, 
usually  painted  on  cloth  or  paper  of  the  color  suggested 
for  use,  so  that  an  idea  may  be  had  of  the  general  effect 
and  a  tentative  estimate  made  of  the  cost.  In  general,  5 
the  artist  is  held  down  to  as  few  colors  as  possible,  and 
is  restricted  in  the  use  of  gold  and  silver,  on  account  of 
the  extra  cost  of  dies  and  stamping  in  the  former  case, 
and  of  precious  gold  and  silver  leaf  in  the  latter.  When 
the  design  is  finally  accepted  it  is  given  into  the  hands  10 
of  the  manufacturing  man,  who,  determining  the  size 
of  the  cover  and  the  thickness  of  the  book,  passes  it 
along  to  the  die  cutter  in  order  that  the  design  or  letter- 
ing may  be  cut  in  hard  brass,  from  which  any  quantity 
of  covers  may  be  stamped  or  printed  without  showing  15 
any  evidence  of  wear  on  the  part  of  the  die  itself.  Of 
late  the  cover  inset  has  come  into  much  vogue,  this 
inset  being  generally  an  illustration  printed  on  paper 
in  one*  or  more  colors  and  pasted  on  the  cover  in  rela- 
tion to  some  part  of  the  stamped  design,  thus  giving  an  20 
added  attraction  to  the  cover  and  making  it  more  in 
keeping  with  the  book,  while  at  the  same  time  holding 
down  the  cost. 

Let  us  consider,  then,  that  the  electrotype  plates  are 
now  ready  for  the  press  and  that  the  paper  is  in  the  25 
printer's  hands.  The  book  is  ready  to  be  printed.  The 
publisher  therefore  tells  the  printer  how  large  an  edition 
he  requires  and  the  signal  is  given  to  begin  the  printing. 
Any  one  unacquainted  with  the  work  and  going  into  a 


How  Books  are  Made  29 

pressroom  for  the  first  time  must  be  struck  by  the  large 
number  of  presses  seemingly  lying  idle  when  he  has  been 
given  to  understand  that  a  pressroom  is  always  a  scene 
of  whirring  activity.  This  seeming  quiet  is  on  account 
of  what  is  known  as  the  "make  ready"  —  the  principal  5 
cause  for  expense  in  printing  and  the  work  which  brings 
out  the  pressman's  art  and  skill.  This  is  the  labor  re- 
quired to  get  the  eight,  or  sixteen,  or  thirty-two,  or  sixty- 
four  pages  ready  to  be  printed.  The  pressman  lays  out 
his  form  on  the  bed  of  his  press,  using  a  large  block  upon  10 
which  the  electrotypes  may  be  placed  and  fastened,  or 
else  a  number  of  small  blocks,  one  to  a  page,  arranged 
in  their  proper  positions  by  wooden  or  metal  strips  laid 
between  the  blocks  —  "furniture,"  as  these  are  called. 
As  type  matter  or  plates  can  never  be  absolutely  even  15 
on  the  top,  it  is  necessary  for  the  pressman  to  build  up 
the  low  spots  and  cut  down  the  impression  where  it  is 
too  black.  After  placing  the  form  on  press,  therefore, 
he  runs  a  trial  sheet  of  paper  through  the  press,  from 
which  he  is  able  to  know  where  in  the  form  his  work  20 
of  evening  the  impression  is  required.  Then  he  starts 
this  work,  which  is  known  as  the  "  make  ready,"  a  labor 
which  may  require  an  hour  or  even  two  or  three  days, 
according  to  the  character  of  the  form  or  the  quality 
of  the  work  desired.  Pieces  of  thin  paper  are  pasted  25 
on  the  cylinder  of  the  press  in  such  positions  as  to  touch 
certain  spots  in  the  form  at  the  point  where  the  cylin- 
der carrying  the  sheet  of  paper  to  be  printed  meets  the 
plates,  thus  increasing  the  strength  of  the  impression  at 


30  Exposition 

that  point,  while  other  pieces  are  cut  in  the  right  size 
and  shape  and  pasted  under  the  plate,  between  it  and 
the  block,  to  gain  a  similar  end.  The  former  method 
is  known  as  "over laying "  and  the  latter  as  "underlay- 
ing." This  same  process  is  carried  out  in  printing  the  5 
illustrations,  only  to  a  greater  degree  and  generally  with 
more  care.  When  the  "make  ready"  has  been  fin- 
ished, the  sheets  of  blank  paper  are  lifted  up  on  the 
press  and  fed  one  by  one  on  to  the  cylinder,  which  car- 
ries them  in  its  revolution  against  the  plates,  after  10 
which  they  are  deposited  in  a  pile  to  be  removed,  printed 
again  on  the  other  side,  counted  and  packed  for  ship- 
ment to  the  binder.  Similar  work  to  this  is  carried  out 
for  every  form  of  the  book  until  it  is  all  printed,  when 
the  scene  is  shifted  to  the  bindery.  15 

The  first  step  in  the  binding  is  the  folding  of  the 
sheets.  While  this  was  generally  done  in  the  past  by 
hand  by  girls  working  with  a  flat  piece  of  smooth  ivory 
or  similar  substance,  it  is  now  almost  universally  exe- 
cuted by  ingenious  machines  which  take  the  sheet  of  20 
paper,  cut  it,  fold  it  accurately,  insert  one  folded  sheet 
within  another  if  necessary,  and  deliver  the  folded 
signatures,  as  each  single  folded  sheet  is  called,  ready 
for  the  next  process.  These  signatures  are  next  "gath- 
ered," either  by  hand  or  machinery,  in  the  order  in  which  25 
they  are  to  appear  in  the  finished  book,  and  they  are 
then  "collated,"  that  is,  verified,  the  collator  making 
sure  that  all  signatures  are  arranged  in  proper  order 
and  that  none  is  missing.  They  are  then  sent  to  the 


How  Books  are  Made  31 

sewing  machines,  which  stitch  the  signatures  together 
in  one  continuous  row,  making  no  division  between 
'the  volumes,  which  have  to  be  cut  apart  by  hand.  If 
the  books  are  to  have  gilt  tops  it  is  here  that  this  work 
comes  in,  the  gilder  placing  a  number  of  books  in  his  5 
press,  squeezing  them  up  very  tightly,  with  the  edge  to 
be  gilded  uppermost,  scraping  this  edge  very  smooth, 
painting  on  it  a  thin  albumen  size,  and  then  laying  on 
the  thin  gold  leaf,  which  is  burnished  down  to  smooth 
brilliancy  by  a  tool  worked  by  the  hand  of  the  gilder.  10 
The  sewed  and  gilded  book  then  moves  along  to  be 
rounded  and  backed;  that  is,  to  be  given  the  circular 
effect  shown  on  the  back  of  the  book  and  to  have  the 
edge  of  the  back,  where  the  sewing  is,  forced  out  by 
pressure  to  make  a  groove  in  which  the  covers  may  have  15 
play.  A  piece  of  coarse,  tough  cloth,  reenforced  by  a 
pasted  strip  of  paper,  is  glued  on  the  back,  the  edges 
of  the  cloth  overhanging  the  edges  by  an  inch  or  so  on 
each  side,  a  flexible  glue  is  smeared  on  the  back  to 
strengthen  it  and  to  hold  the  signatures  more  closely  20 
together,  and  the  book  is  ready  for  the  cover,  which  in 
"all  probability  has  been  made  while  this  other  work  was 
going  on  in  order  to  save  time  at  the  end. 

Although  machines  are  now  generally  used  for  the 
making  of  the  cover  itself,  or  "case,"  as  it  is  called  in  25 
the  trade,  they  have  simply  adopted  the  method  of  the 
hand  worker  with  more  uniformity  and  speed.  The 
plan  of  this  work  begins  with  the  cutting  of  the  stiff 
pasteboard  into  pieces  of  the  proper  size  for  each  side, 


32  Exposition 

a  similar  cutting  of  the  book  cloth  for  the  entire  cover, 
the  gluing  of  the  inner  surface  of  the  cloth,  the  plac- 
ing of  the  pieces  of  board  in  their  proper  positions  and 
of  a  strip  of  paper  down  the  back,  and  the  turning 
over  of  the  edges  of  the  cloth  upon  the  board  to  5 
give  a  finished  edge  and  strengthen  the  case.  The 
case  then  goes  to  the  stamper,  who  places  the  brass 
dies  the  publisher  has  supplied  for  the  lettering  and  the 
design  on  a  metal  block,  inks  them  with  colored  ink,  or, 
if  gold  or  some  other  foil  is  to  be  used,  has  this  foil  10 
stuck  on  with  a  size  to  the  cover,  and  prints  the  design 
or  lettering  on  it  with  his  stamping  press.  If  foil  is 
used  the  dies  are  hot  stamped  against  the  foil,  and 
the  waste  foil  which  has  not  received  the  impression  is 
rubbed  off,  collected  and  remelted.  The  book  is  then  15 
fitted  into  the  case  or  cover,  the  blank  pages  at  each  end 
of  the  book  which  have  been  pasted  on  for  this  purpose 
are  pasted  back  on  the  cover,  and  the  book  is  finished. 
These  pasted  leaves,  together  with  the  reenforcing 
cloth,  are  all  that  hold  the  book  to  the  cover  in  ordinary  20 
"edition  work,"  as  this  style  of  binding  is  called,  but 
that  they  are  sufficient  for  all  customary  use  is  shown 
by  the  amount  of  hard  usage  one  of  these  volumes  will 
stand. 

The  books  are  now  placed  in  a  press  and  subjected  25 
to  heavy  pressure  for  a  day  or  a  night  or  more  in  order 
to  set  the  mold,  as  one  might  say,  and  give  them  a  proper 
chance  to  dry,  after  which  they  are  packed  in  cases  and 
shipped  away  to  the  market.     In  the  selling  of  the 


How  Books  are  Made  33 

product  another  department  of  the  publishing  house 
begins  its  work,  while  the  manufacturing  man  gives  a 
sigh  of  relief,  comments  perhaps  to  himself,  perhaps 
to  the  printer  or  binder,  on  some  details  which  had  not 
worked  out  in  just  the  way  he  had  intended,  and  devotes 
his  attention  to  the  finishing  of  the  next  book  on  the 
publication  list. 


A    SIMPLE    EXPLANATION    OF    WIRELESS 
TELEGRAPHY 1 

A.  E.  KENNELLY 

WIRELESS  telegraphy  is  one  of  the  most  recent  won- 
ders of  our  wonder -revealing  age.  The  public  has  not 
yet  had  time  to  grasp  the  principles  of  this  latest  achieve- 
ment. It  is  commonly  supposed  that  the  subject  of 
wireless  telegraphy  is  too  intricate  for  any  one  except  '  5 
a  specially  trained  scientist  to  grasp.  Nevertheless, 
the  fundamental  principles  of  wireless  telegraphy  are 
simple,  and  may  be  readily  apprehended  by  all  who  are 
interested  in  this  fascinating  inquiry,  however  abstruse 
and  difficult  the  details  may  be.  10 

Wireless  telegraphy  employs  electric  waves  which 
are  invisible  to  the  eye,  but  which  run  over  the  surface 
of  the  sea  and  land  at  an  immense  speed. 

A  fair  analogy  to  wireless  telegraph  waves  is  pre- 
sented, on  a  small  scale,  in  the  waves  artificially  created  15 
on  the  surface  of  a  pond  by  throwing  in  a  stone.     We 
are  all  familiar  with  the  series  of  events  following  the 
fall  of  a  stone  into  the  middle  of  a  previously  smooth 
sheet  of  water.     First  we  have  a  big  disturbance  or 
splash  where  the  stone  falls.     Then  we  see  one  or  more  20 
ring  waves  spreading  out  in  all  directions  from  the 

1  Reprinted  by  permission  from  The  Independent. 
34 


Explanation  of  Wireless   Telegraphy  35 

splash  over  the  surface  of  the  pond.  These  waves  con- 
tinue to  advance  radially  in  every  direction  —  north, 
-south,  east  and  west  —  at  a  steady  rate,  and  if  atten- 
tively watched  they  may  be  seen  to  go  on,  getting  fainter 
and  weaker  as  they  run,  until  finally  they  strike  the  5 
banks  of  the  pond,  or  any  prominent  obstacle,  such  as 
a  stake  stuck  in  the  mud  and  projecting  above  the 
water.  Where  the  wave  strikes  either  one  of  the  banks, 
or  the  stake,  it  raises  a  little  splash  or  disturbance  of  the 
water.  This  little  splash,  on  the  arrival  of  the  wave,  10 
is  much  feebler  than  the  original  splash  due  to  the  im- 
pact of  the  stone  in  falling  on  the  water,  because  the 
wave  spreads  out  into  such  a  long  contour  that  only 
a  small  portion  of  the  original  disturbance  can  be  im- 
parted to  an  obstacle  in  its  path.  In  fact,  if  the  pond  15 
is  sufficiently  large,  the  wave  may  be  so  feeble  by  the 
time  that  it  approaches  the  banks  that  no  splash  on 
arrival  can  be  discerned.  In  other  words,  if  the  wave 
on  reaching  the  bank  is  to  be  capable  of  producing  a 
discernible  disturbance,  it  must  have  an  appreciable  20 
strength  and  not  be  reduced  by  expansion  to  micro- 
scopic dimensions. 

From  the  standpoint  of  wireless  telegraphy,  the  im- 
pact splash  of  the  falling  stone  corresponds  to  an  elec- 
tric signal  sent  out  from  the  mast  of  a  sending  station,  25 
and  the  faint  little  splash  on  the  arrival  of  the  wave  at 
a  bank,  or  an  obstacle,  corresponds  to  the  faint  electric 
disturbance  or  signal  detected  at  a  distant  receiving 
station  as  soon  as  the  electric  wave  arrives  there. 


36  Exposition 

If  we  suppose  that  two  boats  are  quietly  anchored  in 
the  pond  at  a  suitable  distance  apart,  it  might  be  feasible 
for  a  man  in  one  boat  to  send  signals  to  a  friend  in  the 
other  by  striking  a  succession  of  short  and  long  blows 
on  the  water,  in  conformity  with  the  telegraph  Morse  5 
alphabet.  The  letter  a  would  be  formed  by  a  short 
blow  followed  by  a  long  one,  the  letter  b  by  a  long  blow 
followed  by  three  short  ones,  and  so  on.  Each  blow 
on  the  water  at  the  sending  boat  would  send  out  a  new 
wave  in  all  directions  over  the  pond,  and  the  letters  10 
of  the  message  would  lie  in  successive  expanding  rings 
on  the  surface  of  the  water.  The  man  in  the  receiving 
boat  would  intercept  these  expanding  ring  waves  at 
some  point  of  their  circle.  He  might  be  able  to  watch 
the  little  splashes  they  formed  on  his  anchor  chain,  or  15 
other  obstacle,  and  so  might  be  able  to  read  the 
message,  each  letter  being  received  a  few  seconds  later 
than  it  was  hammered  out  by  the  sender.  Practically, 
of  course,  this  plan  would  have  little  chance  of  success, 
if  only  because  the  least  ruffle  of  breeze  would  prevent  20 
the  wave  signals  from  being  discerned.  Moreover, 
the  range  of  water  wave  signaling  would  be  very  small, 
even  in  calm  weather. 

In  the  case  of  pond-wave  telegraphy,  as  above  sug- 
gested, the  waves  would  be  emitted  from  a  sending  sta-  25 
tion  by  producing  there  a  relatively  powerful  disturb- 
ance of  the  pond  or  liquid  medium.  The  disturbances 
would  move  off  as  waves  in  all  directions,  with  a  defi- 
nite speed.  At  any  point,  within  the  working  range, 


Explanation  of  Wireless   Telegraphy  37 

a  receiving  station  could  intercept  and  perceive  the  dis- 
turbances caused  by  the  waves  on  their  arrival,  and 
could  thus  spell  out  messages.  The  receiving  boat 
might  be  north,  south,  east  or  west  of  the  sending  boat, 
but  if  its  distance  away  was  the  same  it  should  be  able  5 
to  decipher  the  water  waves  equally  well. 

Electric  wave  telegraphy,  or  wireless  telegraphy, 
operates  in  a  somewhat  similar  way.  Instead  of  using 
water  waves  it  uses  electric  waves  traveling  through 
the  ether  over  the  earth's  surface.  The  electric  splash  10 
or  disturbance  is  created  at  the  sending  station  by  the 
sudden  electric  charge  or  discharge  of  a  wire  or  wires 
on  a  tall  mast,  while  the  expanding  waves,  being  invis- 
ible, have  to  be  detected  by  a  delicate  electric  respon- 
sive device  connected  to  a  tall  receiving  mast  placed  at  15 
any  point  within  the  working  range.  The  advancing 
electric  waves  strike  the  receiving  mast  and  produce 
feeble  electric  splashes,  or  disturbances,  in  the  wire 
or  wires  suspended  there. 

It   is   necessary   to   regard   the   wireless   telegraphy  20 
waves    as    running   through    the    ether,    rather    than 
through  the  air,  even  though  they  appear  to  be  carried 
by  the  air.     If  the  waves  were  carried  by  the  air,  they 
would  be  sound  waves,  which  have  quite  different  prop- 
erties, and  which,  moreover,  are  only  capable  of  being  25 
detected  ordinarily  at  relatively  short  distances.     There 
is  every  reason  to  believe  that  if  the  air  which  surrounds 
the  globe  could  somehow  be  completely  removed,  so  as 
to  leave  only  so-called  empty  space  on  its  surface,  the 


38  Exposition 

electric  waves  would  still  be  able  to  run  over  it,  sub- 
stantially as  they  do  now  with  the  air  present.  It  is 
universally  admitted  that  so-called  empty  space,  or  in- 
terstellar space,  must  be  occupied  by  something  invisible, 
which  is  called  the  ether,  and  which  transmits  light,  heat  5 
and  electric  disturbances  generally.  This  ether  perme- 
ates all  matter,  and  the  atmosphere  is  permeated  by 
it.  Consequently,  the  wireless  telegraph  waves  run 
through  the  atmosphere,  but  are  borne  by  the  under- 
lying invisible  ether.  10 

Those  who  have  witnessed  that  magnificent  spectacle, 
a  total  eclipse  of  the  sun,  from  a  favorably  placed  view- 
point, say  the  top  of  a  mountain,  will  remember  that 
as  the  sun's  disk  becomes  obscured  gradually  by  the 
moon,  the  sunlight  on  the  landscape  steadily  dwindled,  15 
but  without  any  sudden  changes,  until  the  first  instant 
of  totality,  when  the  sun  was  completely  hidden  be- 
hind the  moon.  The  observer  watching  for  this  moment 
discerns  a  black  shadow  on  the  horizon,  like  a  dark  veil 
or  curtain,  spreading  from  earth  to  sky  and  running  to-  20 
ward  him  at  great  speed.  The  wall  of  shadow  sweeps 
over  the  landscape  in  a  stealthy,  majestic  rush  and 
passes  by  the  observer,  leaving  him  in  the  semi-obscurity 
of  the  total  eclipse.  This  is  perhaps  the  nearest  ap- 
proach that  nature  gives  to  our  senses  of  the  phenomenon  25 
of  electric  wave  movement.  It  conveys  only  a  weak 
image  of  that  phenomenon,  because  the  speed  of  the 
moon's  shadow,  which  the  eye  sees  running  over  the 
landscape,  is  only  a  few  thousand  miles  per  hour,  while 


Explanation  of  Wireless   Telegraphy  39 

the  speed  of  the  electric  waves  is  known  with  practical 
certainty  to  be  almost  the  same  as  that  of  light  in  free 
, space,  i.e.,  186,000  miles  per  second,  or  sufficient  to 
run  seven  and  one  half  times  round  the  world  in  one 
second  by  the  clock.  5 

If,  however,  we  assume  that  our  eyes  could  see  an 
electric  wave  of  wireless  telegraphy  running  over  the 
earth,  just  as  we  actually  see  the  waves  running  over 
a  pond,  or  the  shadow  of  a  cloud  running  over  a  land- 
scape, we  should  expect  to  see  a  hemispherical  wave  10 
thrown  out  from  the  sending  mast  every  time  an  electric 
spark  discharge  was  produced  there.  The  hemisphere 
would  cover  the  land  like  an  inverted  bowl,  and  would 
expand  in  all  directions  like  the  upper  half  of  a  gigantic 
swelling  soap  bubble,  at  the  speed  of  186,000  miles  a  15 
second.  At  the  upper  portions  of  the  hemisphere,  and 
particularly  at  the  top,  the  wave  would  be  very  thin  and 
weak.  It  would  be  denser  and  stronger  in  the  lower 
portions,  and  especially  in  the  lowest  portion  that 
spreads  over  the  ground  like  a  ring.  20 

In  the  celebrated  Marienfeld-Zossen  railroad  experi- 
ments, made  in  Germany  a  few  years  ago,  the  highest 
attainable  train  speeds  were  striven  for,  and  speeds  of 
120  miles  per  hour  were  reached  over  portions  of  the 
road.  An  observer  stationed  near  the  straight  track  25 
and  on  the  lookout  for  the  car  with  his  unaided  eyes 
would  see  it  coming  on  the  horizon,  would  watch  it 
approach,  pass  and  vanish  on  the  opposite  horizon  all 
within  thirty  seconds,  or  half  a  minute  of  time.  This 


4O  Exposition 

assumes  that  he  would  lose  sight  of  the  car  half  a  mile 
away  from  him.  But  if  the  speed  of  a  passing  wave, 
instead  of  being  120  miles  an  hour,  were  670  millions  of 
miles  per  hour,  how  small  would  be  our  chance  of  get- 
ting a  look  at  the  passing  wave,  even  though  it  reached  5 
from  the  earth  to  the  sky?  A  twinkling  of  an  eye 
would  be  a  relatively  long  and  dreary  delay  in  com- 
parison with  the  time  of  passage. 

By  way  of  example,  suppose  the  sending  mast  were 
located  in  the  Brooklyn  Navy  Yard  just  off  Manhattan  10 
Island,  and  suppose  a  single  spark  discharge,  or  electric 
splash,  were  made  at  this  mast,  corresponding  to  a  "dot " 
signal  in  wireless  telegraphy.  Immediately  we  should 
see,  if  we  possessed  the  imagined  powers  of  vision,  a 
hemispherical  wave  rush  off  from  the  mast  in  all  direc-  15 
tions  over  the  earth.  Strictly  speaking,  there  would 
not  be  just  one  wave.  A  stone  thrown  into  a  pond 
generally  produces  one  principal  wave  followed  imme- 
diately by  a  train  of  successively  smaller  waves.  So 
an  electric  splash,  or  spark  discharge  from  the  sending-  20 
mast  wire,  usually  produces  a  train  of  waves,  of  which 
the  first  is  strongest  and  the  rest  are  successively  weaker. 
But  ignoring  this  detail,  if  we  confined  attention  to  the 
first  or  leading  wave,  we  should  expect  to  see  a  nearly 
vertical  wall  running  over  the  sea  and  land,  north,  south,  25 
east  and  west  with  the  speed  of  light.  The  wave 
would,  indeed,  be  made  up  of  two  successive  walls,  say 
first  a  "positive"  wall  and  then  a  "negative"  wall, 
with  a  clear  space  between,  just  as  a  water  wave  is  made 


Explanation  of  Wireless  Telegraphy  41 

up  of  a  positive  wall,  or  crest,  and  then  a  negative  wall, 
or  trough,  immediately  behind,  with  a  mean-level  space 
.between  them.  The  length  of  the  wave  would  depend 
upon  the  height  of  the  sending-mast  wire,  and  with  a 
plain  vertical  wire,  the  wave,  including  both  positive  5 
and  negative  walls,  would  stretch  over,  or  cover,  a  dis- 
tance on  the  ground  about  four  times  the  height  of  the 
wire.  Consequently  a  mast  150  feet  high  would  throw 
off  a  wave  about  600  feet  long,  the  positive  wall  being 
300  feet  thick,  and  the  negative  wall  also  300  feet  thick.  10 
In  practice,  however,  coils  of  wire  are  included  in  the 
discharge  path  of  sending-mast  wires,  and  these  arti- 
ficially increase  the  virtual  height  of  those  wires,  so  that 
a  iso-foot  mast  may  act  as  though  it  were  much  higher, 
say  even  a  mile  high.  In  the  latter  case,  the  outgoing  15 
wave  would  cover  four  miles  of  ground,  or  its  wave 
length  would  be  four  miles. 

If  we  transported  ourselves  somehow  in  a  flying 
machine  over  the  earth's  surface  at  the  speed  of  light, 
Jules  Verne's  celebrated  flying  projectile  being  hope-  20 
lessly  too  slow  for  our  imagination  in  this  respect,  we 
could  keep  up  with  the  outgoing  wave  and  watch  what 
happened  to  it  as  it  ran.  What  happens  far  up  above 
the  earth  would  lie  beyond  our  ken,  and  we  need  not 
attempt  to  follow  the  wave  upward.  But  along  and  25 
near  the  earth's  surface  we  should  expect  to  see  the 
wave  bend  over  the  globe,  so  as  to  keep  advancing  over 
it  like  a  nearly  vertical  wall.  The  wave  in  its  westward 
progress  would  be  expected,  after  starting,  to  reach  the 


42  Exposition 

Great  Lakes  in  i-2yoth  of  a  second,  and  the  Pacific  Coast 
in  the  i-goth  of  a  second.  If  we  followed  it  in  our  air- 
ship eastward,  we  should  expect  to  reach  Europe  in  about 
i-5oth  of  a  second,  and  the  distant  shores  of  the  Le- 
vant in  about  i-3Sth  of  a  second.  If  we  took  our  5 
imaginary  aerial  automobile  northward  with  the  wave, 
we  should  expect  to  see  the  wave  pass  the  north  pole 
in  about  i~5oth  of  a  second.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  we 
selected  the  southerly  direction  of  flight,  we  should 
expect  to  see  the  wave  pass  the  south  pole  in  about  10 
i-2oth  of  a  second. 

One  naturally  inquires  how  long  could  the  imaginary 
aerial  chase  be  kept  up.  If  it  could  be  kept  going  for  a 
single  second  of  time,  the  wave  would  have  passed  New 
York  on  the  seventh  time  around  the  world.  The  15 
answer  is  that  possibly  in  theory  the  chase  of  an  ultra- 
microscopic  ripple  might  be  kept  up  as  long  as  one 
pleased,  but  that,  in  practice,  the  waves  have  not  yet 
been  detected  at  distances  exceeding  a  few  thousand 
miles  from  their  source.  The  reason  is  that  they  weaken  20 
so  much  as  they  expand.  Just  as  the  wave  expanding 
over  a  pond  spreads  and  weakens  until  it  is  rapidly  lost 
to  sight,  so  the  wireless  telegraph  waves,  being  spread 
over  such  immense  distances,  become  diluted  to  inap- 
preciable residuals.  Not  only  do  they  suffer  in  intensity  25 
by  spreading  over  a  continually  widening  area,  but  they 
are  also  weakened  by  absorption  into  the  surface  of 
the  ground.  If  the  ground  were  a  perfect  electric 
conductor,  the  electric  waves,  or  the  vertical  walls  that 


Explanation  of  Wireless   Telegraphy  43 

our  imagination  depicts  them,  would  skim  over  the 
ground  or  ocean  without  being  absorbed  therein.  But 
the  earth's  superficial  layers  are  far  from  being  a  per- 
fect conductor,  and  so  the  earth  is  always  swallowing 
up  or  absorbing  the  wave,  to  some  extent,  at  the  ground  5 
surface,  and  the  upper  portions  of  the  wave  feed  down 
energy  into  the  lower  portions  to  try  to  make  good  the 
defect  as  the  wave  runs  along;  but  the  result  is  to 
make  the  wave  disappear  so  much  the  sooner.  The 
salt  water  ocean  conducts  electrically  much  better  10 
than  the  dry  land  and  also  presents  a  smoother  general 
contour.  On  this  account  wireless  telegraph  signals 
can  ordinarily  be  detected  much  farther  over  the  sea 
than  over  the  land.  For  a  given  electric  splashing 
power,  or  discharging  disturbance  power,  at  the  sending  15 
mast,  there  is  a  certain  range  over  the  sea  and  over  the 
land  at  which  high  receiving  masts  can  pick  up  the 
disturbance  of  the  passing  waves  and  make  them 
appreciable  to  our  senses  by  the  aid  of  a  very  delicate 
electric  apparatus.  The  bigger  the  sending  splashing,  20 
the  higher  the  masts  at  both  sending  and  receiving 
stations,  and  the  more  delicate  the  electric  receiving 
apparatus,  the  greater  is  this  range.  At  present  the 
range  extends  right  across  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 

Wherever  a  vertical  wire  is  placed  in  the  path  of  an  25 
electric  wave  an  electric  disturbance  will  be  created  up 
and  down  this  wire  during  the  passage  of  the  wave, 
and  this  disturbance,   if  strong  enough,   can  act  on 
suitable  electric  apparatus  so  as  to  register  a  signal.    A 


44  Exposition 

single  wave  may  pass  by  a  mast  in,  say,  one  millionth 
of  a  second,  according  to  the  length  of  the  wave.  But 
this  brief  disturbance  suffices.  In  sending  a  wireless 
message,  every  dot  and  dash  involves  a  succession  of 
waves,  or  an  individual  wave  train.  This  train  is  short  5 
for  a  dot  and  long  for  a  dash.  Dots  and  dashes,  in 
proper  sequence,  spell  out  the  message. 

What  is  the  nature  of  the  wave,  or  of  these  vertical 
walls,  that  we  imagine  to  fly  across  the  landscape  at  such 
an  enormous  speed  ?    If  we  carried  our  imaginary  aerial  10 
automobile  into  one,  so  as  to  travel  in  the  wall  and  ex- 
amine it  leisurely  before  it  dwindled  away  to  insignificant 
remains,  we  should  expect  to  find  that  in  the  advancing 
wave  there  was  a  feeble  vertical  electric  force,  so  that 
an  electrically  charged  pithball  suspended  from  the  15 
aerial  automobile  would  be  attracted  either  vertically 
upward  or  downward,  according  as  we  examined  the 
positive  or  negative  wall.     Moreover,  there  would  be 
an  accompanying  feeble  horizontal  magnetic  force,  so 
that  a  delicately  poised  compass  needle  on  board  our  fly-  20 
ing  car  would  be  deflected  either  to  the  right  or  to  the 
left,  according  to  whether  we  traveled  in  the  positive  or 
negative  wall.     Such  are  the  warp  and  the  woof  of  the 
electro-magnetic  fabric  which  constitutes  these  waves. 
They  are  not  tissued  of  matter,  but  of  electricity  and  25 
of  magnetism. 

But  how  are  we  to  distinguish  at  any  receiving  station 
between  waves  coming  simultaneously  from  New  York, 
Boston,  Philadelphia,  Chicago,  San  Francisco,  London, 


Explanation  of  Wireless   Telegraphy  45 

Paris,  Vienna,  Bombay  and  Pekin  without  invidious 
disregard  of  other  places  and  ships  at  sea  ?  The  more 
remote  places  take  care  of  themselves  at  present,  because 
their  waves  are  too  feeble  and  exhausted  to  reach  us. 
The  nearer  places  might  well  conflict,  but  by  tuning  the  5 
apparatus  at  our  receiving  mast  to  respond  only  to 
waves  say  500  yards  long,  all  waves  save  those  of  the 
particular  station  or  stations  which  emit  that  length  of 
wave  will  not  be  audible.  Besides,  there  are  other 
modes  of  securing  artificial  selection  of  signals,  other-  10 
wise  a  modern  tower  of  Babel  would  be  erected  in  the 
circumambient  air. 

Manifestly,  wireless  telegraphy  is  destined  to  be- 
come a  great  civilizing  and  socializing  agency,  because 
the  firmament  of  the  world  is  the  common  property  15 
of  all  nations,  and  those  who  use  it  for  signaling  in- 
habit it,  in  a  certain  sense.     When  all  nations  come 
to    inhabit   the   firmament   collectively   they   will    be 
brought  into  closer  communion  for  their  mutual  ad- 
vantage.    A  new  upper  geography  dawns  upon  us,  in  20 
which  there  is  no   more  sea,   neither   are  there  any 
boundaries  between  the  peoples. 

Now  that  wireless  telegraphy  has  entered  the  com- 
mercial field  of  transoceanic  telegraphy,  it  becomes 
of  interest  to  inquire  whether  it  is  likely  to  supplant  25 
the  submarine  telegraph  cables,  some  250,000  miles  of 
which  engirdle  the  oceans  of  &e  world.  Wireless 
telegraphy  has  an  undisputed  territory  on  the  ocean 
in  maintaining  telegraph  communication  with  mov- 


46  Exposition 

ing  vessels,  where  submarine  cables  cannot  reach 
them.  Now  wireless  telegraphy  proposes  to  compete 
with  cables  for  messages  from  continent  to  continent. 
It  may  be  safely  said  that,  up  to  the  present  time, 
wireless  telegraphy  has  helped  the  ocean  cables,  by  5 
bringing  messages  to  them  from  ships  at  sea,  much 
more  than  it  has  hurt  them  by  robbing  them  of  mes- 
sages. If  wireless  telegraphy  were  to  remain  station- 
ary, and  make  no  further  technical  progress,  it  is  very 
doubtful  whether,  with  its  present  capabilities,  it  could  10 
reduce  materially  the  traffic  over  submarine  cables. 
On  the  other  hand,  however,  wireless  telegraphy  is 
still  very  young,  and  its  limitations  have  by  no  means 
been  determined.  It  is,  therefore,  conceivable  that  at 
some  distant  date  it  may  attain  such  a  degree  of  devel-  15 
opment  as  to  render  ocean  cables  no  longer  necessary. 


ARTIST   AND    MORALIST1 
JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL 

WE  may  admit,  with  proper  limitations,  the  modern 
distinction  between  the  Artist  and  the  Moralist.  With 
the  one,  Form  is  all  in  all,  with  the  other  Tendency. 
The  aim  of  the  one  is  to  delight,  of  the  other  to  con- 
vince. The  one  is  master  of  his  purpose,  the  other  5 
mastered  by  it.  The  whole  range  of  perception  and 
thought  is  valuable  to  the  one  as  it  will  minister  to 
imagination;  to  the  other  only  as  it  is  available  for 
argument.  With  the  moralist  use  is  beauty,  good 
only  as  it  serves  an  ulterior  purpose;  with  the  artist  10 
beauty  is  use,  good  in  and  for  itself.  In  the  fine  arts 
the  vehicle  makes  part  of  the  thought,  coalesces  with 
it.  The  living  conception  shapes  itself  a  body  in 
marble,  color,  or  modulated  sound,  and  henceforth 
the  two  are  inseparable.  The  results  of  the  moralist  15 
pass  into  the  intellectual  atmosphere  of  mankind,  it 
matters  little  by  what  mode  of  conveyance.  But 
where,  as  in  Dante,  the  religious  sentiment  and  the 
imagination  are  both  organic,  something  interfused 
with  the  whole  being  of  the  man,  so  that  they  work  20 
in  kindly  sympathy,  the  moral  will  insensibly  suffuse 

1  Reprinted    by   permission   from   "  Literary   Essays."      Boston, 
Hough  ton,  Mifflin  &  Co. 

47 


48  Exposition 

itself  with  beauty  as  a  cloud  with  light.  Then  that 
fine  sense  of  remote  analogies,  awake  to  the  asso- 
nance between  facts  seemingly  remote  and  unrelated, 
between  the  outward  and  inward  worlds,  though  con- 
vinced that  the  things  of  this  life  are  shadows,  will  be 
persuaded  also  that  they  are  not  fantastic  merely,  but 
imply  a  substance  somewhere,  and  will  love  to  set 
forth  the  beauty  of  the  visible  image  because  it 
suggests  the  iiieffably  higher  charm  of  the  unseen 
original. 


RELIGION  AND  MORALITY1 

* 

GEORGE  HERBERT  PALMER 

THESE  considerations  seem  to  show  that  however 
close  the  two  fields  are,  religion  and  morality,  they  are 
still  distinct.  But  I  feel  that  here,  far  more  than  in 
any  preceding  case,  it  is  difficult  to  mark  the  separa- 
tion. As  a  fact,  we  have  seen  they  differ.  Why,  and  5 
in  what  respects,  we  must  now  try  to  discover. 

The  points  of  difference  come  out  most  obviously 
when  we  set  a  great  religious  cry  side  by  side  with  a 
great  moral  one;    and  by  a  cry  I  mean  the  utterance 
of  a  distressed  and  aspiring  soul  yearning  for  moral  10 
or  religious  power.     Take,  for  example,  the  cry  of  the 
Psalmist,  "Against  Thee,  Thee  only,  have  I  sinned !" 
and  the  cry  of  Wordsworth  in  the  "Ode  to  Duty," 
"Oh,    let    my    weakness    have    an   end!"     The   two 
refer  to  the  same  matter.     Each  person  feels  his  im-  15 
perfection.     Each    mourns    a    departure    from   right- 
eousness.    In  each  a  finite  person  is  recognized  as 
connected  with  what  is  infinite,  a  connection  felt  to 
be  not  accidental  but  essential.     As  we  have  already 
seen,  neither  in  religion  nor  morality  can  the  finite  20 
detach   itself   from   the   infinite.     In   both    cases    the 

1  Reprinted  by  permission   from  "  The  Field  of  Ethics."     Boston, 

Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co. 

E  49 


50  Exposition 

finite  person,  perceiving  his  imperfection,  seeks  refuge 
in  the  perfect  one. 

But  if  the  substance  of  the  two  cries  is  the  same, 
if  they  refer  to  similar  spiritual  conditions,  wherein 
do  they  differ?  The  point  of  view  is  different,  that  5 
is  all.  While  each  expresses  the  essential  union  of 
the  finite  or  imperfect  being  with  the  infinite  or 
perfect  one,  yet  in  the  religious  case  the  stand  is  taken 
at  the  point  of  view  of  the  perfect  one;  while  the 
moral  man  looks  at  it  from  the  opposite  end,  the  10 
point  of  view  of  the  imperfect  one.  To  the  mind  of 
the  Psalmist  the  horror  of  his  sin  consists  in  this, 
that  he  —  the  little  imperfect  creature  —  has  at- 
tempted a  blow  against  the  all-perfect  One.  He 
cannot  think  of  his  sin  as  damaging  his  brother  man,  15 
nor  even  as  damaging  himself.  He  himself,  his  fel- 
low-men, all  imperfect  existences,  are  beings  of  no 
account.  The  only  being  of  worth  whom  he  con- 
templates is  the  Most  High.  And  the  sin  is  wrought 
against  Him.  He,  the  one  being  of  worth,  has  been  20 
by  the  Psalmist's  deed  declared  unworthy.  That  is 
the  shocking  thing,  that  he  has  raised  his  imperfect 
hand  against  perfection. 

Plainly  there  is  nothing  of  this  in  the  cry  of  Words- 
worth. On  the  contrary,  he  is  conceiving  of  himself  25 
as  so  important  as  to  require  additional  strength. 
"Oh,  let  my  weakness  have  an  end!"  The  being 
in  whom  he  is  specially  interested  is  himself,  the  im- 
perfect one,  the  finite.  He  longs  to  have  a  full  con- 


Religion  and  Morality  51 

nection  established  between  himself  and  the  perfect 
one  not  for  the  sake  of  the  perfect,  but  of  himself, 
the  imperfect.  No  less  than  the  Psalmist  he  recog- 
nizes the  need  of  being  interlocked  with  the  eternal. 
But  he  starts  from  his  own  side.  His  view  is  man-  5 
ward ;  the  religious  view  is  Godward.  There  is, 
accordingly,  a  sharp  contrast  while  each  still  acknowl- 
edges the  same  two  elements  essentially  conjoined. 
Neither  finds  one  of  these  elements  of  any  account 
parted  from  the  other.  But  the  conjunction  is  reck-  10 
oned  of  consequence  by  the  religious  mind  because 
of  the  Most  High;  by  the  moral  mind,  because  of  us 
struggling,  needy,  imperfect,  finite  creatures.  And 
this  contrast  is  fundamental.  Everywhere  the  reli- 
gious soul  seeks  after  God  as  all  in  all.  We  are  of  no  15 
consequence.  "What  is  man,  that  Thou  art  mind- 
ful of  him?"  To  lose  ourselves  in  Him,  to  abolish 
separation,  this  has  been  the  aspiration  of  religion  in 
every  age  and  under  every  type  of  religious  belief. 
It  is  that  o/AO&wt*  r<S  0e<£,  or  absorption  into  God,  20 
for  which  Plato  and  the  mystics  long. 


"VALUE"1 
ARTHUR  TWINING  HADLEY 

THE  word  "  value  "  is  used  in  a  number  of  wholly 
different  meanings,  but  this  idea  of  a  permanent  stand- 
ard or  cause  of  price,  as  distinguished  from  a  tem- 
porary or  accidental  phenomenon,  lies  at  the  basis  of 
them  all.  Sometimes  value  is  used  in  the  sense  of  5 
utility  —  for  instance,  when  I  say  that  an  article  has 
a  value  to  me  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  amount  for 
which  I  could  sell  it.  Sometimes  it  means  purchasing 
power  in  the  abstract,  as  distinct  from  concrete  meas- 
ures of  this  power;  for  instance,  when  I  say  that  an  10 
article  has  value,  though  I  do  not  know  just  what  its 
price  may  be.  Sometimes  it  means  purchasing  power 
measured  in  commodities  instead  of  in  money.  In 
countries  with  a  paper  currency  there  is  frequent  oc- 
casion for  using  the  word  in  this  sense.  If  the  cur-  15 
rency  is  doubled  by  act  of  the  legislature,  the  prices  of 
goods  measured  in  this  currency  will  tend  to  double 
also;  but  we  are  justified  in  saying  that  there  is  no 
increase  of  real  value  corresponding  to  this  change 
in  nominal  price.  Sometimes  the  term  "  value  "  means  20 
average  probable  price.  If  I  say  that  a  certain  rail- 

1  Reprinted  by  permission  from  "  Economics.  "    Copyright,  1896, 
by  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons. 


"  Value  "  53 

road  stock  is  selling  below  its  true  value,  I  simply 
mean  that  in  the  long  run  it  is,  in  my  opinion,  likely 
to  command  a  higher  price  than  it  does  now.  Fi- 
nally, the  word  "  value  "  often  means  a  proper  and 
legitimate  price,  as  distinct  from  an  unfair  or  extortion-  5 
ate  one.  The  last  is  much  the  commonest  and  most 
important  sense  of  the  word  in  commercial  usage,  and 
there  seems  to  be  no  good  reason  against  our  adopting 
it.  In  this  sense,  the  substantive  value  corresponds 
exactly  to  the  adjective  worth.  If  we  say  that  a  man  10 
is  charging  a  higher  price  for  an  article  than  it  is 
worth,  we  mean  that  he  is  putting  the  buyer  on  an 
unfair  disadvantage. 

The  price  of  an  article  or  service,  in  the  ordinary 
commercial  sense,  is  the  amount  of  money  which  is  15 
paid,  asked,  or  offered  for  it.     The  value  of  an  article 
or  service  is  the  amount  of  money  which  may  properly 
be  paid,  asked,  or  offered  for  it.     A  theory  of  price 
puts   us   in   a   position   to    explain    the   transactions 
of  commercial   life.     A   theory   of   value   undertakes  20 
to    pass    judgment    upon    their   advisability  or  their 
morality. 


PATHOS1 
COVENTRY  PATMORE 

NEITHER  Aristotle  nor  Hegel,  the  two  great  exposi- 
tors of  the  relation  of  the  emotions  to  art,  has  discussed 
the  nature  of  that  which  is  understood  by  moderns  as 
"pathos."  Aristotle  has  described  in  his  "Rhetoric," 
with  the  greatest  acuteness  and  sensibility,  the  condi-  5 
tions  and  modes  of  exciting  pity.  But  pity  includes 
much  that  is  excluded  by  pathos;  and  it  may  be  use- 
ful to  endeavor  to  ascertain  what  the  limitations  of  the 
latter  are,  and  what  are  its  conditions  in  relation  more 
particularly  to  art,  in  which  it  plays  so  important  a  10 
part. 

Pity,  then,  differs  from  pathos  in  this:   the  latter  is 
simply   emotional,    and   reaches   no   higher   than   the 
sensitive  nature;    though  the  sensitive  nature,  being 
dependent  for  its  power  and  delicacy  very  much  upon  15 
the  cultivation  of  will  and  intellect,  may  be  indefinitely 
developed  by  these  active  factors  of  the  soul.     Pity  is 
helpful,  and  is  not  deadened  or  repelled  by  circum- 
stances which  disgust  the  simply  sensitive  nature;   and 
its  ardor  so  far   consumes    such  obstacles  to    merely  20 
emotional  sympathy,  that  the  person  who  truly  pities 

1  Reprinted  from  "  Principle  in  Art."     Lond<5h,  George  Bell  &  Sons. 

54 


Pathos  55 

finds  the  field  of  pathos  extended  far  beyond  the  ordi- 
nary limits  of  the  dainty  passion  which  gives  tears  to 
the  eyes  of  the  selfish  as  well  as  the  self-sacrificing. 
In  an  ideally  perfect  nature,  indeed,  pity  and  pathos, 
'which  is  the  feeling  of  pity,  would  be  coextensive;    5 
and  the  latter  would  demand  for   its  condition  the 
existence  of  the  former,  with  some  ground  of  actual 
reality    to    work    beneficially    upon.     On    the    other 
hand,  entire  selfishness  would  destroy  even  the  faint- 
est capacity  for  discerning  pathos  in  art  or  circum-  10 
stance.     In  the  great  mass  of  men  and  women  there 
is  sufficient  virtue  of  pity  —  pity  that  would  act  if  it 
had  the  opportunity  —  to  extend  in  them  the  feeling 
of  pity,  that  is,  pathos,  to  a  far  larger  range  of  cir- 
cumstances than  their  active  virtue  would  be  compe-  15 
tent  to  encounter,  even  if  it  had  the  chance. 

Suffering  is  of  itself  enough  to  stir  pity;  for  abso- 
lute wickedness,  with  the  torment  of  which  all  whole- 
some -minds  would  be  quite  content,  cannot  be  cer- 
tainly predicated  of  any  individual  sufferer;  but  20 
pathos,  whether  in  a  drawing-room  tale  of  delicate 
distress  or  in  a  tragedy  of  ^Eschylus  or  Shakespeare, 
requires  that  some  obvious  goodness,  or  beauty,  or 
innocence,  or  heroism  should  be  the  subject  of  suffer- 
ing, and  that  the  circumstance  or  narration  of  it  25 
should  have  certain  conditions  of  repose,  contrast, 
and  form.  The  range  of  pathos  is  immense,  extend- 
ing from  the  immolation  of  an  Isaac  or  an  Iphigenia 
to  the  death  of  a  kitten  that  purrs  and  licks  the  hand 


56  Exposition 

about  to  drown  it.  Next  to  the  fact  of  goodness, 
beauty,  innocence,  or  heroism  in  the  sufferer,  contrast 
is  the  chief  factor  in  artistic  pathos.  The  celestial 
sadness  of  Desdemona's  death  is  immensely  height- 
ened by  the  black  shadow  of  lago;  and  perhaps  the  5 
most  intense  touch  of  pathos  in  all  history  is  that  of 
Gordon  murdered  at  Khartoum,  while  his  betrayer 
occupies  himself,  between  the  acts  of  a  comedy  at  the 
Criterion,  in  devising  how  best  he  may  excuse  his 
presence  there  by  denying  that  he  was  aware  of  the  10 
contretemps  Or  by  representing  his  news  of  it  as  non- 
official.  The  singer  of  Fair  Rosamond's  sorrows 
knew  the  value  of  contrast  when  he  sang :  — 

Hard  was  the  heart  that  gave  the  blow, 

Soft  were  the  lips  that  bled.  15 

Every  one  knows  how  irresistible  are  a  pretty  woman's 
tears. 

Nought  is  there  under  heav'n's  wide  hollowness 

That  moves  more  dear  compassion  of  mind 

Than  beauty  brought  to  unworthy  wretchedness.  20 

It  is  partly  the  contrast  of  beauty,  which  is  the  natu- 
ral appanage  of  happiness,  that  renders  her  tears  so 
pathetic;  but  it  is  still  more  the  way  in  which  she  is 
given  to  smiling  through  them.  The  author  of  the 
"  Rhetoric  "  shows  his  usual  incomparable  subtilty  of  25 
observation  when  he  notes  that  a  little  good  coming 
upon  or  in  the  midst  of  extremity  of  evil  is  a  source 
of  the  sharpest  pathos;  and  when  the  shaft  of  a  pas- 
sionate female  sorrow  is  feathered  with  beauty  and 


Pathos  57 

pointed  with  a  smile,  there  is  no  heart  that  can  refuse 
her   her   will.     In   absolute   and   uncontrolled   suffer- 
ing there  is  no  pathos.     Nothing  in  the  "  Inferno  "  has 
this  quality  except  the  passage  of  Paolo  and  Fran- 
cesca,  still  embracing,  through  the  fiery  drift.     It  is  the    5 
embrace  that  makes  the  pathos,  "tempering  extremi- 
ties with  extreme  sweet,"  or  at  least  with  the  memory 
of  it.     Our  present  sorrows  generally  owe  their  grace 
of  pathos   to   their   " crown,"   which   is   "remember- 
ing happier  things."     No  one  weeps  in  sympathy  with  10 
the  "base  self -pitying  tears"  of  Thersites,  or  with  those 
of  any  whose  grief  is  without  some  contrasting  dignity 
of  curb.     Even  a  little  child  does  not  move  us  by  its 
sorrow,  when  expressed  by  tears  and  cries,  a  tenth 
part  so  much  as  by  the  quivering  lip  of  attempted  15 
self-control.     A  great  and  present  evil,  coupled  with  a 
distant  and  uncertain  hope,  is  also  a  source  of  pathos; 
if  indeed  it  be  not  the  same  with  that  which  Aristotle 
describes  as  arising  from  the  sequence  of  exceeding 
ill  and  a  little  good.    There  is  pathos  in  a  departing  20 
pleasure,  however  small.    It  is  the  fact  of  sunset,  not 
its   colors  —  which  are  the  same  as  those  of   sunrise 
—  that  constitutes  its  sadness;    and  in  mere  darkness 
there  may  be  fear  and  distress,  but  not  pathos.     There 
are  few  things  so  pathetic  in  literature  as  the  story  of  25 
the  supper  which  Amelia,  in  Fielding's  novel,  had  pre- 
pared for  her  husband,  and  to  which  he  did  not  come, 
and  that  of  Colonel  Newcome  becoming  a  Charter- 
house pensioner.    In  each  of  these  cases,  the  pathos 


58  Exposition 

arises  wholly  from  the  contrast  of  noble  reticence  with 
a  sorrow  which  has  no  direct  expression.  The  same 
necessity  for  contrast  renders  reconciliations  far  more 
pathetic  than  quarrels,  and  the  march  to  battle  of  an 
army  to  the  sound  of  cheerful  military  music  more  able  5 
to  draw  tears  than  the  spectacle  of  the  battle  itself. 

The  soul  of  pathos,  like  that  of  wit,  is  brevity.    Very 
few   writers   are   sufficiently  aware  of   this.    Humor 
is  cumulative  and  diffusive,  as  Shakespeare,  Rabelais, 
and  Dickens  well  knew ;  but  how  many  a  good  piece  of  10 
pathos    has  been  spoiled    by  the  historian    of   Little 
Nell  by  an  attempt  to  make  too  much  of  it !    A  drop 
of  citric  acid  will  give  poignancy  to  a  feast;    but  a 
draught  of  it  — !    Hence  it  is  doubtful  whether  an 
English  eye  ever  shed  a  tear  over  the  "  Vita  Nuova,"  15 
whatever  an  Italian   may  have   done.     Next   to   the 
patient   endurance  of  heroism,   the  bewilderment  of 
weakness  is  the  most  fruitful  source  of  pathos.     Hence 
the  exquisitely  touching   points  in  "  A  Pair  of  Blue 
Eyes,"  "  Two  on  a  Tower,"  "  The  Trumpet- Major,"  20 
and  other  of  Hardy's  novels. 

Pathos  is  the  luxury  of  grief,  and  when  it  ceases  to 
be  other  than  a  keen-edged  pleasure  it  ceases  to  be 
pathos.  Hence  Tennyson's  question  in  "Love  and 
Duty,"  "Shall  sharpest  pathos  blight  us?"  involves  25 
a  misunderstanding  of  the  word;  although  his  un- 
derstanding of  the  thing  is  well  proved  by  such  lyrics 
as  "Tears,  idle  tears,"  and  "O  well  for  the  fisher- 
man's boy."  Pleasure  and  beauty  —  which  may  be 


PatfiQs  59 

said  to  be  pleasure  visible  —  are  without  their  highest 
perfection  if  they  are  without  a  touch  of  pathos.  This 
touch,  indeed,  accrues  naturally  to  profound  pleasure 
and  to  great  beauty  by  the  mere  fact  of  the  incongru- 
ity of  their  earthly  surroundings  and  the  sense  of  iso-  5 
lation,  peril,  and  impermanence  caused  thereby.  It 
is  a  doctrine  of  that  inexhaustible  and  (except  by 
Dante)  almost  unworked  mine  of  poetry,  Catholic 
theology,  that  the  felicity  of  the  angels  and  glorified 
saints  and  of  God  Himself  would  not  be  perfect  without  10 
the  edge  of  pathos,  which  it  receives  from  the  fall 

I  and  reconciliation  of  man.  Hence,  on  Holy  Saturday 
the  Church  exclaims,  "O  felix  culpa!"  and  hence 
"  there  is  more  joy  in  heaven  over  one  sinner  that  re- 
penteth  than  over  ninety  and  nine  righteous  who  need  15 
no  repentance."  Sin,  says  St.  Augustine,  is  the  nec- 
essary shadow  of  heaven;  and  pardon,  says  some 
other,  is  the  highest  light  of  its  beatitude. 


THE  SOCIAL  VALUE  OF  THE  COLLEGE- 
BRED1 

WILLIAM  JAMES 

OF  what  use  is  a  college  training?  We  who  have 
had  it  seldom  hear  the  question  raised  —  we  might 
be  a  little  nonplussed  to  answer  it  offhand.  A  certain 
amount  of  meditation  has  brought  me  to  this  as  the 
pithiest  reply  which  I  myself  can  give :  The  best  claim  5 
that  a  college  education  can  possibly  make  on  your 
respect,  the  best  thing  it  can  aspire  to  accomplish  for 
you,  is  this :  that  it  should  help  you  to  know  a  good  man 
when  you  see  him.  This  is  as  true  of  women's  as  of 
men's  colleges ;  but  that  it  is  neither  a  joke  nor  a  one-  10 
sided  abstraction  I  shall  now  endeavor  to  show. 

What  talk  do  we  commonly  hear  about  the  contrast 
between  college  education  and  the  education  which 
business  or  technical  or  professional  schools  confer? 
The  college  education  is  called  higher  because  it  is  15 
supposed  to  be  so  general  and  so  disinterested.  At 
the  "schools"  you  get  a  relatively  narrow  practical 
skill,  you  are  told,  whereas  the  " colleges"  give  you  the 
more  liberal  culture,  the  broader  outlook,  the  histori- 
cal perspective,  the  philosophic  atmosphere,  or  some-  20 

1  Reprinted  by  permission  from  McClure's  Magazine  for  February, 
1908, 

60 


The  Social  Value  of  the  College-bred         61 

thing  which  phrases  of  that  sort  try  to  express.  You 
are  made  into  an  efficient  instrument  for  doing  a  defi- 
nite thing,  you  hear,  at  the  schools;  but,  apart  from 
that,  you  may  remain  a  crude  and  smoky  kind  of 
petroleum,  incapable  of  spreading  light.  The  uni-  5 
versities  and  colleges,  on  the  other  hand,  although 
they  may  leave  you  less  efficient  for  this  or  that  prac- 
tical task,  suffuse  your  whole  mentality  with  something 
more  important  than  skill.  They  redeem  you,  make 
you  well-bred;  they  make  "good  company"  of  you  10 
mentally.  If  they  find  you  with  a  naturally  boorish 
or  caddish  mind,  they  cannot  leave  you  so,  as  a  tech- 
nical school  may  leave  you.  This,  at  least,  is  pre- 
tended; this  is  what  we  hear  among  college-trained 
people  when  they  compare  their  education  with  every  15 
other  sort.  Now,  exactly  how  much  does  this  signify  ? 
It  is  certain,  to  begin  with,  that  the  narrowest  trade 
or  professional  training  does  something  more  for  a 
man  than  to  make  a  skillful  practical  tool  of  him  —  it 
makes  him  also  a  judge  of  other  men's  skill.  Whether  20 
his  trade  be  pleading  at  the  bar  or  surgery  or  plaster- 
ing or  plumbing,  it  develops  a  critical  sense  in  him 
for  that  sort  of  occupation.  He  understands  the  differ- 
ence between  second-rate  and  first-rate  work  in  his  whole 
branch  of  industry ;  he  gets  to  know  a  good  job  in  his  25 
own  line  as  soon  as  he  sees  it;  and  getting  to  know 
this  in  his  own  line,  he  gets  a  faint  sense  of  what  good 
work  may  mean  anyhow,  that  may,  if  circumstances 
favor,  spread  into  his  judgments  elsewhere.  Sound 


62  Exposition 

work,  clean  work,  finished  work:  feeble  work,  slack 
work,  sham  work  —  these  words  express  an  identical 
contrast  in  many  different  departments  of  activity. 
In  so  far  forth,  then,  even  the  humblest  manual  trade 
may  beget  in  one  a  certain  small  degree  of  power  to  5 
judge  of  good  work  generally. 

Now,  what  is  supposed  to  be  the  line  of  us  who  have 
the  higher  college  training?  Is  there  any  broader  line 
—  since  our  education  claims  primarily  not  to  be 
" narrow "  —  in  which  we  also  are  made  good  judges  10 
between  what  is  first-rate  and  what  is  second-rate 
only?  What  is  especially  taught  in  the  colleges  has 
long  been  known  by  the  name  of  the  "  humani- 
ties," and  these  are  often  identified  with  Greek  and 
Latin.  But  it  is  only  as  literatures,  not  as  languages,  15 
that  Greek  and  Latin  have  any  general  humanity- value ; 
so  that  in  a  broad  sense  the  humanities  mean  litera- 
ture primarily,  and  in  a  still  broader  sense  the  study 
of  masterpieces  in  almost  any  field  of  human  endeavor. 
Literature  keeps  the  primacy;  for  it  not  only  con-  20 
sists  of  masterpieces,  but  is  largely  about  masterpieces, 
being  little  more  than  an  appreciative  chronicle  of 
human  master-strokes,  so  far  as  it  takes  the  form  of 
criticism  and  history.  You  can  give  humanistic  value 
to  almost  anything  by  teaching  it  historically.  Geol-  25 
ogy,  economics,  mechanics,  are  humanities  when 
taught  with  reference  to  the  successive  achievements 
of  the  geniuses  to  which  these  sciences  owe  their  being. 
Not  taught  thus,  literature  remains  -grammar,  art  a 


The  Social  Value  of  the  College-bred          63 

catalogue,  history  a  list  of  dates,  and  natural  science 
a  sheet  of  formulas  and  weights  and  measures. 

The    sifting    of    human    creations !  —  nothing    less 
than  this  is  what  we  ought  to  mean  by  the  humani- 
ties.    Essentially   this   means    biography;     what   our    5 
colleges  should  teach  is,  therefore,  biographical  his- 
tory, not  that  of  politics  merely,  but  of  anything  and 
everything  so  far  as  human  efforts  and  conquests  are 
factors  that  have  played  their  part.     Studying  in  this 
way,  we  learn  what  types  of  activity  have  stood  the  test  10 
of  time;    we  acquire  standards  of  the  excellent  and 
durable.     All  our  arts  and  sciences  and  institutions 
are  but  so  many  quests  of  perfection  on  the  part  of 
men ;  and  when  we  see  how  diverse  the  types  of  excel- 
lence may  be,  how  various  the  tests,  how  flexible  the  15 
adaptations,  we  gain  a  richer  sense  of  what  the  terms 
" better "  and  " worse7'  may  signify  in  general.     Our 
critical   sensibilities   grow  both   more   acute   and  less 
fanatical.     We  sympathize  with  men's  mistakes  even 
in  the  act  of  penetrating  them;   we  feel  the  pathos  of  20 
lost  causes  and  misguided  epochs  even  while  we  ap- 
plaud what  overcame  them. 

Such  words  are  vague  and  such  ideas  are  inade- 
quate, but  their  meaning  is  unmistakable.  What  the 
colleges  —  teaching  humanities  by  examples  which  25 
may  be  special,  but  which  must  be  typical  and  preg- 
nant —  should  at  least  try  to  give  us,  is  a  general 
sense  of  what,  under  various  disguises,  superiority  has 
always  signified  and  may  still  signify.  The  feeling 


64  Exposition 

for  a  good  human  job  anywhere,  the  admiration  of 
the  really  admirable,  the  disesteem  of  what  is  cheap 
and  trashy  and  impermanent  —  this  is  what  we  call  the 
critical  sense,  the  sense  for  ideal  values.  It  is  the 
better  part  of  what  men  know  as  wisdom.  Some  of  us  5 
are  wise  in  this  way  naturally  and  by  genius;  some 
of  us  never  become  so.  But  to  have  spent  one's  youth 
at  college,  in  contact  with  the  choice  and  rare  and 
precious,  and  yet  still  to  be  a  blind  prig  or  vulgarian, 
unable  to  scent  out  human  excellence  or  to  divine  it  10 
amid  its  accidents,  to  know  it  only  when  ticketed  and 
labeled  and  forced  on  us  by  others,  this  indeed  should 
be  accounted  the  very  calamity  and  shipwreck  of  a 
higher  education. 

The  sense  for  human  superiority  ought,  then,  to  be  15 
considered  our  line,  as  boring  subways  is  the  engi- 
neer's line   and  the   surgeon's   is   appendicitis.     Our 
colleges  ought  to  have  lit  up  in  us  a  lasting  relish  for 
the  better  kind  of  man,  a  loss  of  appetite  for  medi- 
ocrities, and  a  disgust  for  cheap] acks.    We  ought  to  20 
smell,  as  it  were,  the  difference  of  quality  in  men  and 
their  proposals  when  we  enter  the  world  of  affairs  about 
us.     Expertness  in  this  might  well  atone  for  some  of 
our  awkwardness  at  accounts,  for  some  of  our  igno- 
rance of  dynamos.     The  best  claim  we  can  make  for  25 
the  higher  education,  the  best  single  phrase  in  which 
we  can  tell  what  it  ought  to  do  for  us,  is,  then,  exactly 
what  I  said :   it  should  enable  us  to  know  a  good  man 
when  we  see  him. 


The  Social  Value  of  the  College-bred          65 

That  the  phrase  is  anything  but  an  empty  epigram 
follows  from  the  fact  that  if  you  ask  in  what  line  it  is 
most  important  that  a  democracy  like  ours  should 
have  its  sons  and  daughters  skillful,  you  see  that  it  is 
this  line  more  than  any  other.  "The  people  in  their  5 
wisdom "  —  this  is  the  kind  of  wisdom  most  needed  by 
the  people.  Democracy  is  on  its  trial,  and  no  one 
knows  how  it  will  stand  the  ordeal.  Abounding 
about  us  are  pessimistic  prophets.  Fickleness  and  vio- 
lence used  to  be,  but  are  no  longer,  the  vices  which  10 
they  charge  to  democracy.  What  its  critics  now  af- 
firm is  that  its  preferences  are  inveterately  for  the 
inferior.  So  it  was  in  the  beginning,  they  say,  and 
so  it  will  be  world  without  end.  Vulgarity  enthroned 
and  institutionalized,  elbowing  everything  superior  15 
from  the  highway,  this,  they  tell  us,  is  our  irremedi- 
able destiny ;  and  the  picture  papers  of  the  European 
continent  are  already  drawing  Uncle  Sam  with  the 
hog  instead  of  the  eagle  for  his  heraldic  emblem.  The 
privileged  aristocracies  of  the  foretime,  with  all  their  20 
iniquities,  did  at  least  preserve  some  taste  for  higher 
human  quality  and  honor  certain  forms  of  refinement  by 
their  enduring  traditions.  But  when  democracy  is  sov- 
ereign, its  doubters  say,  nobility  will  form  a  sort  of  in- 
visible church,  and  sincerity  and  refinement,  stripped  25 
of  honor,  precedence,  and  favor,  will  have  to  vege- 
tate on  sufferance  in  private  corners.  They  will 
have  no  general  influence.  They  will  be  harmless 
eccentricities. 


66  Exposition 

Now,  who  can  be  absolutely  certain  that  this  may 
not  be  the  career  of  democracy?  Nothing  future  is 
quite  secure;  states  enough  have  inwardly  rotted; 
and  democracy  as  a  whole  may  undergo  self-poison- 
ing. But,  on  the  other  hand,  democracy  is  a  kind  of  5 
religion,  and  we  are  bound  not  to  admit  its  failure. 
Faiths  and  Utopias  are  the  noblest  exercise  of  human 
reason,  and  no  one  with  a  spark  of  reason  in  him  will 
sit  down  fatalistically  before  the  croaker's  picture. 
The  best  of  us  are  filled  with  the  contrary  vision  of  a  10 
democracy  stumbling  through  every  error  till  its  insti- 
tutions glow  with  justice  and  its  customs  shine  with 
beauty.  Our  better  men  shall  show  the  way  and  we 
shall  follow  them;  so  we  are  brought  round  again  to 
the  mission  of  the  higher  education  in  helping  us  to  15 
know  the  better  kind  of  man  whenever  we  see  him. 

The  notion  that  a  people  can  run  itself  and  its 
affairs  anonymously  is  now  well  known  to  be  the  silli- 
est of  absurdities.  Mankind  does  nothing  save  through 
initiatives  on  the  part  of  inventors,  great  or  small,  20 
and  imitation  by  the  rest  of  us  —  these  are  the  sole 
factors  active  in  human  progress.  Individuals  of 
genius  show  the  way,  and  set  the  patterns,  which 
common  people  then  adopt  and  follow.  The  rivalry 
of  the  patterns  is  the  history  of  the  world.  Our  demo-  25 
cratic  problem  thus  is  statable  in  ultra-simple  terms: 
Who  are  the  kind  of  men  from  whom  our  majorities 
shall  take  their  cue?  Whom  shall  they  treat  as  right- 
ful leaders?  We  and  our  leaders  are  the  x  and  the  y 


The  Social  Value  of  the  College-bred          67 

of  the  equation  here;  all  other  historic  circumstances, 
be  they  economical,  political,  or  intellectual,  are  only 
the  background  of  occasion  on  which  the  living  drama 
works  itself  out  between  us. 

In  this, very  simple  way  does  the  value  of  our  edu-    5 
cated  class  define  itself:    we  more  than  others  should 
be  able  to  divine  the  worthier  and  better  leaders.     The 
terms  here  are  monstrously  simplified,  of  course,  but 
such  a  bird's-eye  view  lets  us  immediately  take  our 
bearings.     In  our  democracy,  where  everything  else  is  10 
so  shifting,   we   alumni   and   alumnae  of  the  colleges 
are  the  only  permanent  presence  that  corresponds  to 
the  aristocracy  in  older  countries.     We  have  continu- 
ous traditions,  as  they  have;  our  motto,  too,  is  noblesse 
oblige  ;    and,  unlike   them,  we  stand   for   ideal    inter-  15 
ests  solely,  for  we  have  no  corporate  selfishness  and 
wield  no  powers  of  corruption.     We  ought  to  have  our 
own  class-consciousness.      "Les  intellectuels !"    What 
prouder  club  name  could  there  be  than  this  one,  used 
ironically  by  the  party  of  "red  blood,"  the  party  of  20 
every  stupid  prejudice  and  passion,  during  the  anti- 
Dreyfus  craze,  to  satirize  the  men  in  France  who  still 
retained  some  critical  sense  and  judgment !     Critical 
sense,  it  has  to  be  confessed,  is  not  an  exciting  term, 
hardly  a  banner  to  carry  in  processions.     Affections  25 
for  old  habit,  currents  of  self-interest,  and  gales  of  pas- 
sion are  the  forces  that  keep  the  human  ship  moving ; 
and  the  pressure  of  the  judicious  pilot's  hand  upon  the 
tiller    is    a    relatively    insignificant    energy.     But    the 


68  Exposition 

affections,  passions,  and  interests  are  shifting,  suc- 
cessive, and  distraught;  they  blow  in  alternation 
while  the  pilot's  hand  is  steadfast.  He  knows  the  com- 
pass, and,  with  all  the  leeways  he  is  obliged  to  tack  to- 
ward, he  always  makes  some  headway.  A  small  force,  5 
if  it  never  lets  up,  will  accumulate  effects  more  consider- 
able than  those  of  much  greater  forces  if  these  work 
inconsistently.  The  ceaseless  whisper  of  the  more  per- 
manent ideals,  the  steady  tug  of  truth  and  justice, 
give  them  but  time,  must  warp  the  world  in  their  direc-  10 
tion. 

This  bird's-eye  view  of  the  general  steering  func- 
tion of  the  college-bred  amid  the  driftings  of  democ- 
racy ought  to  help  us  to  a  wider  vision  of  what  our 
colleges  themselves  should  aim  at.  If  we  are  to  be  the  15 
yeast  cake  for  democracy's  dough,  if  we  are  to  make 
it  rise  with  culture's  preferences,  we  must  see  to  it  that 
culture  spreads  broad  sails.  We  must  shake  the  old 
double  reefs  out  of  the  canvas  into  the  wind  and  sun- 
shine, and  let  in  every  modern  subject,  sure  that  any  20 
subject  will  prove  humanistic,  if  its  setting  be  kept  only 
wide  enough. 

Stevenson  says  somewhere  to  his  reader:  "You 
think  you  are  just  making  this  bargain,  but  you  are  really 
laying  down  a  link  in  the  policy  of  mankind."  Well,  25 
your  technical  school  should  enable  you  to  make  your 
bargain  splendidly;  but  your  college  should  show 
you  just  the  place  of  that  kind  of  bargain  —  a  pretty 
poor  place,  possibly  —  in  the  whole  policy  of  man- 


The  Social  Value  of  the  College-bred          69 

kind.  That  is  the  kind  of  liberal  outlook,  of  perspec- 
tive, of  atmosphere,  which  should  surround  every 
subject  as  a  college  deals  with  it. 

We  of  the  colleges  must  eradicate  a  curious  notion 
which  numbers  of  good  people  have  about  such  an-  5 
cient  seats  of  learning  as  Harvard.  To  many  ignorant 
outsiders,  that  name  suggests  little  more  than  a  kind 
of  sterilized  conceit  and  incapacity  for  being  pleased. 
In  Edith  Wyatt's  exquisite  book  of  Chicago  sketches 
called  "Every  One  his  Own  Way,"  there  is  a  couple  10 
who  stand  for  culture  in  the  sense  of  exclusiveness, 
Richard  Elliot  and  his  feminine  counterpart  —  feeble 
caricatures  of  mankind,  unable  to  know  any  good  thing 
when  they  see  it,  incapable  of  enjoyment  unless  a 
printed  label  gives  them  leave.  Possibly  this  type  of  15 
culture  may  exist  near  Cambridge  and  Boston,  there 
may  be  specimens  there,  for  priggishness  is  just  like 
painter's  colic  or  any  other  trade  disease.  But  every 
good  college  makes  its  students  immune  against  this 
malady,  of  which  the  microbe  haunts  the  neighbor-  20 
hood-printed  pages.  It  does  so  by  its  general  tone 
being  too  hearty  for  the  microbe's  life.  Real  culture 
lives  by  sympathies  and  admirations,  not  by  dislikes 
and  disdains  —  under  all  misleading  wrappings  it 
pounces  unerringly  upon  the  human  core.  If  a  col-  2$ 
lege,  through  the  inferior  human  influences  that  have 
grown  regnant  there,  fails  to  catch  the  robuster  tone, 
its  failure  is  colossal,  for  its  social  function  stops :  de- 
mocracy gives  it  a  wide  berth,  turns  toward  it  a  deaf  ear. 


yo  Exposition 

"Tone,"  to  be  sure,  is  a  terribly  vague  word  to  use, 
but  there  is  no  other,  and  this  whole  meditation  is  over 
questions  of  tone.  By  their  tone  are  all  things  hu- 
man either  lost  or  saved.  If  democracy  is  to  be  saved 
it  must  catch  the  higher,  healthier  tone.  If  we  are  to  5 
impress  it  with  our  preferences,  we  ourselves  must 
use  the  proper  tone,  which  we,  in  turn,  must  have 
caught  from  our  own  teachers.  It  all  reverts  in  the 
end  to  the  action  of  innumerable  imitative  individuals 
upon  each  other  and  to  the  question  of  whose  tone  has  10 
the  highest  spreading  power.  As  a  class,  we  college 
graduates  should  look  to  it  that  ours  has  spreading 
power.  It  ought  to  have  the  highest  spreading  power. 

In  our  essential  function  of  indicating  the  better 
men,  we  now  have  formidable  competitors  outside.  15 
McClure's  Magazine,  the  American  Magazine,  Collier's 
Weekly,  and,  in  its  fashion,  the  World's  Work,  con- 
stitute together  a  real  popular  university  along  this 
very  line.  It  would  be  a  pity  if  any  future  historian 
were  to  have  to  write  words  like  these :  "  By  the  middle  20 
of  the  twentieth  century  the  higher  institutions  of 
learning  had  lost  all  influence  over  public  opinion 
in  the  United  States.  But  the  mission  of  raising  the 
tone  of  democracy,  which  they  had  proved  themselves 
so  lamentably  unfitted  to  exert,  was  assumed  with  25 
rare  enthusiasm  and  prosecuted  with  extraordinary 
skill  and  success  by  a  new  educational  power;  and 
for  the  clarification  of  their  human  sympathies  and 
elevation  of  their  human  preferences,  the  people  at 


The  Social  Value  of  the  College-bred          71 

large  acquired  the  habit  of  resorting  exclusively  to 
the  guidance  of  certain  private  literary  adventures, 
commonly  designated  in  the  market  by  the  affection- 
ate name  of  ten-cent  magazines." 

Must  not  we  of  the  colleges  see  to  it  that  no  histo-  5 
rian  shall  ever  say  anything  like  this?  Vague  as  the 
phrase  of  knowing  a  good  man  when  you  see  him 
may  be,  diffuse  and  indefinite  as  one  must  leave  its 
application,  is  there  any  other  formula  that  describes 
so  well  the  result  at  which  our  institutions  ought  to  10 
aim?  If  they  do  that,  they  do  the  best  thing  con- 
ceivable. If  they  fail  to  do  it,  they  fail  in  very  deed. 
It  surely  is  a  fine  synthetic  formula.  If  our  faculties 
and  graduates  could  once  collectively  come  to  realize 
it  as  the  great  underlying  purpose  toward  which  they  15 
have  always  been  more  or  less  obscurely  groping, 
great  clearness  would  be  shed  over  many  of  their 
problems ;  and,  as  for  their  influence  in  the  midst  of  our 
social  system,  it  would  embark  upon  a  new  career  of 
strength.  20 


A  NEW  DEFINITION  OF  THE  CULTI- 
VATED  MAN1 

CHARLES  WILLIAM  ELIOT 

To  produce  the  cultivated  man,  or  at  least  the  man 
capable  of  becoming  cultivated  in  after  life,  has  long 
been  supposed  to  be  one  of  the  fundamental  objects  of 
systematic  and  thorough  education.  The  ideal  of 
general  cultivation  has  been  one  of  the  standards  of  5 
education.  It  is  often  asked:  Will  the  education 
which  a  given  institution  is  supplying  produce  the 
cultivated  man?  Or,  can  cultivation  be  the  result  of 
a  given  course  of  study  ?  In  such  questions  there  is  an 
implication  that  the  education  which  does  not  produce  10 
the  cultivated  man  is  a  failure,  or  has  been  miscon- 
ceived or  misdirected.  Now  if  cultivation  were  an  un- 
changing ideal,  the  steady  use  of  the  conception  as  a 
permanent  test  of  educational  processes  might  be  justi- 
fied; but  if  the  cultivated  man  of  to-day  is,  or  ought  15 
to  be,  a  distinctly  different  creature  from  the  cultivated 
man  of  a  century  ago,  the  ideal  of  cultivation  cannot 
be  appealed  to  as  a  standard  without  preliminary 
explanations  and  interpretations.  It  is  the  object  of 

1  Reprinted  from  "  Present  College  Questions,"  by  special  permis- 
sion of  D.  Appleton  &  Co. 

72 


A  New  Definition  of  the  Cultivated  Man      73 

this  paper  to  show  that  the  idea  of  cultivation  in  the 
highly  trained  human  being  has  undergone  substan- 
tial changes  during  the  nineteenth  century. 

I  ought  to  say  at  once  that  I  propose  to  use  the  term 
"Cultivated  man"  in  only  its  good  sense  —  in  Emer-  5 
son's  sense.  In  this  paper  he  is  not  to  be  a  weak, 
critical,  fastidious  creature,  vain  of  a  little  exclusive 
information  or  of  an  uncommon  knack  in  Latin  verse 
or  mathematical  logic:  he  is  to  be  a  man  of  quick 
perceptions,  broad  sympathies,  and  wide  affinities,  re-  10 
sponsive  but  independent,  self-reliant  but  deferential, 
loving  truth  and  candor  but  also  moderation  and  pro- 
portion, courageous  but  gentle,  not  finished  but  per- 
fecting. All  authorities  agree  that  true  culture  is  not 
exclusive,  sectarian,  or  partisan,  but  the  very  opposite;  15 
that  it  is  not  to  be  attained  in  solitude,  but  in  society; 
and  that  the  best  atmosphere  for  culture  is  that  of  a 
school,  university,  academy,  or  church,  where  many 
pursue  together  the  ideals  of  truth,  righteousness, 
and  love.  20 

Here  some  one  may  think  this  process  of  cultivation 
is  evidently  a  long,  slow,  artificial  process.  I  prefer 
the  genius,  the  man  of  native  power  or  skill,  the  man 
whose  judgment  is  sound  and  influence  strong,  though 
he  cannot  read  or  write  —  the  born  inventor,  orator,  25 
or  poet.  So  do  we  all.  Men  have  always  reverenced 
prodigious  inborn  gifts,  and  always  will.  Indeed,  bar- 
barous men  always  say  of  the  possessors  of  such  gifts 
—  these  are  not  men ;  they  are  gods.  But  we  teachers, 


74  Exposition 

who  carry  on  a  system  of  popular  education,  which 
is  by  far  the  most  complex .  and  valuable  invention 
of  the  nineteenth  century,  know  that  we  have  to  do, 
not  with  the  highly  gifted  units,  but  with  the  millions 
who  are  more  or  less  capable  of  being  cultivated  by  5 
the  long,  patient,  artificial  training  called  education. 
For  us  and  our  system  the  genius  is  no  standard,  but 
the  cultivated  man  is.  To  his  stature  we  and  many  of 
our  pupils  may  in  time  attain. 

There   are   two   principal   differences   between   the  10 
present  ideal  and  that  which  prevailed  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  nineteenth  century.      All  thinkers  agree 
that  the  horizon  of  the  human  intellect  has  widened 
wonderfully  during  the  past  hundred  years,  and  that 
the  scientific  method  of  inquiry,   which  was  known  15 
to  but  very  few  when  the  nineteenth  century  began, 
has  been  the  means  of  that  widening.    This  method 
has   become    indispensable    in    all    fields    of    inquiry, 
including     psychology,     philanthropy,     and     religion, 
and,  therefore,  intimate  acquaintance  with  it  has  be-  20 
come  an  indispensable  element  in  culture.     As  Mat- 
thew Arnold  pointed  out  more  than  a  generation  ago, 
educated  mankind  is  governed  by  two  passions  —  one 
the  passion  for  pure  knowledge,  the  other  the  passion 
for  being  of  service  or  doing  good.     Now,  the  passion  25 
for  pure  knowledge  is  only  to  be  gratified  through 
the  scientific  method  of  inquiry.     In  Arnold's  phrases, 
the  first  step  for  every  aspirant  to  culture  is  to  en- 
deavor to  see  things  as  they  are,  or  "  to  learn,  in  short, 


A   New  Definition  of  the  Cultivated  Man       75 

the  Will  of  God."     The  second  step  is  to  make  that 
Will  prevail,  each  in  his  own  sphere  of  action  and 
influence.     This  recognition  of  science  as  pure  knowl- 
edge,  and  of  the  scientific  method  as  the  universal 
method  of   inquiry,  is  the  great  addition  made  by  the    5 
nineteenth  century  to  the  idea  of  culture.     I  need  not 
say  that  within  that  century  what  we  call  science, 
pure  and  applied,  has  transformed  the  world  as  the 
scene  of  the  human  drama;    and  that  it  is  this  trans- 
formation   which    has    compelled    the    recognition    of  10 
natural  science  as  a  fundamental  necessity  in  liberal 
education.      The  most  convinced  exponents  and  ad- 
vocates of   humanism   now   recognize   that  science  is 
the  "paramount  force  of  the  modern  as  distinguished 
from  the  antique  and  the  mediaeval  spirit"  (John  Ad-  15 
dington  Symonds  —  "Culture")  and  that  "an  interpen- 
etration  of  humanism  with  science  and  of  science  with 
humanism   is   the  condition  of  the  highest  culture." 

A  second  modification  of  the  earlier  idea  of  culti- 
vation was  advocated  by  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  more  20 
than  two  generations  ago.  He  taught  that  the  ac- 
quisition of  some  form  of  manual  skill  and  the  prac- 
tice of  some  form  of  manual  labor  were  essential  ele- 
ments of  culture.  This  idea  has  more  and  more  become 
accepted  in  the  systematic  education  of  youth ;  and  if  25 
we  include  athletic  sports  among  the  desirable  forms 
of  manual  skill  and  labor,  we  may  say  that  during 
the  last  thirty  years  this  element  of  excellence  of  body 
in  the  ideal  of  education  has  had  a  rapid,  even  an 


76  Exposition 

exaggerated,  development.  The  idea  of  some  sort  of 
bodily  excellence  was,  to  be  sure,  not  absent  in  the 
old  conception  of  the  cultivated  man.  The  gentle- 
man could  ride  well,  dance  gracefully,  and  fence  with 
skill;  but  the  modern  conception  of  bodily  skill  as  an  5 
element  in  cultivation  is  more  comprehensive,  and 
includes  that  habitual  contact  with  the  external  world 
which  Emerson  deemed  essential  to  real  culture.  We 
have  lately  become  convinced  that  accurate  work 
with  carpenters'  tools,  or  lathe,  or  hammer  and  anvil,  10 
or  violin,  or  piano,  or  pencil,  or  crayon,  or  camePs- 
hair  brush,  trains  well  the  same  nerves  and  ganglia 
with  which  we  do  what  is  ordinarily  called  thinking. 
We  have  also  become  convinced  that  some  intimate, 
sympathetic  acquaintance  with  the  natural  objects  of  15 
the  earth  and  sky  adds  greatly  to  the  happiness  of  life, 
and  that  this  acquaintance  should  be  begun  in  child- 
hood and  be  developed  all  through  adolescence  and 
maturity.  A  brook,  a  hedgerow,  or  a  garden  is  an 
inexhaustible  teacher  of  wonder,  reverence,  and  love.  20 
The  scientists  insist  to-day  on  nature  study  for  chil- 
dren; but  we  teachers  ought  long  ago  to  have  learned 
from  the  poets  the  value  of  this  element  in  education. 
They  are  the  best  advocates  of  nature  study.  If  any 
here  are  not  convinced  of  its  worth,  let  them  go  to  25 
Theocritus,  Virgil,  Wordsworth,  Tennyson,  or  Lowell 
for  the  needed  demonstration.  Let  them  observe,  too, 
that  a  great  need  of  modern  industrial  society  is  in- 
tellectual pleasures,  or  pleasures  which,  like  music, 


A   New  Definition  of  the  Cultivated  Man       77 

combine  delightful  sensations  with  the  gratifications 
of  observation,  association,  memory,  and  sympathy. 
The  idea  of  culture  has  always  included  a  quick  and 
wide  sympathy  with  men;  it  should  hereafter  include 
sympathy  with  Nature,  and  particularly  with  its  liv-  5 
ing  forms  —  a  sympathy  based  on  some  accurate 
observation  of  Nature.  The  bookworm,  the  monk, 
the  isolated  student,  has  never  been  the  type  of  the 
cultivated  man.  Society  has  seemed  the  natural  set- 
ting for  the  cultivated  person,  man  or  woman;  but  10 
the  present  conception  of  real  culture  contains  not 
only  a  large  development  of  this  social  element,  but  also 
an  extension  of  interest  and  reverence  to  the  animate 
creation  and  to  those  immense  forces  that  set  the  earthly 
stage  for  man  and  all  related  beings.  15 

Let  us  now  proceed  to  examine  some  of  the  changes 
in  the  idea  of  culture,  or  in  the  available  means  of  cul- 
ture, which  the  last  hundred  years  have  brought  about. 

i.  The  moral  sense  of  the  modern  world  makes 
character  a  more  important  element  than  it  used  to  be  20 
in  the  ideal  of  a  cultivated  man.  Now  character  is 
formed,  as  Goethe  said,  in  the  "stream  of  the  world" 
—  not  in  stillness  or  isolation,  but  in  the  quick-flowing 
tides  of  the  busy  world,  the  world  of  nature  and  the 
world  of  mankind.  At  the  end  of  the  nineteenth  century  25 
the  world  was  wonderfully  different  from  the  world  at 
the  beginning  of  that  eventful  period;  and,  moreover, 
men's  means  of  making  acquaintance  with  the  world 
were  vastly  more  ample  than  they  were  a  hundred 


78  Exposition 

years  earlier.  To  the  old  idea  of  culture  some  knowl- 
edge of  history  was  indispensable.  Now  history  is  a 
representation  of  the  stream  of  the  world,  or  of  some 
little  portion  of  that  stream,  one  hundred,  five  hundred, 
two  thousand  years  ago.  Acquaintance  with  some  part  5 
of  the  present  stream  ought  to  be  more  formative  of 
character,  and  more  instructive  as  regards  external 
nature  and  the  nature  of  man,  than  any  partial  sur- 
vey of  the  stream  that  was  flowing  centuries  ago.  We 
have,  then,  through  the  present  means  of  reporting  the  10 
stream  of  the  world  from  day  to  day,  material  for  cul- 
ture such  as  no  preceding  generation  of  men  has  pos- 
sessed. The  cultivated  man  or  woman  must  use  the 
means  which  steam  and  electricity  have  provided  for 
reporting  the  play  of  physical  forces  and  of  human  15 
volitions  which  make  the  world  of  to-day;  for  the 
world  of  to-day  supplies  in  its  immense  variety  a  pic- 
ture of  all  stages  of  human  progress,  from  the  Stone 
Age,  through  savagery,  barbarism,  and  medievalism, 
to  what  we  now  call  civilization.  The  rising  generation  20 
should  think  hard  and  feel  keenly,  just  where  the  men 
and  women  who  constitute  the  actual  human  world 
are  thinking  and  feeling  most  to-day.  The  panorama 
of  to-day's  events  is  not  an  accurate  or  complete  picture, 
for  history  will  supply  posterity  with  much  evidence  25 
which  is  hidden  from  the  eyes  of  contemporaries; 
but  it  is  nevertheless  an  invaluable  and  a  new  means 
of  developing  good  judgment,  good  feeling,  and  the 
passion  for  social  service,  or,  in  other  "words,  of  secur- 


A  New  Definition  of  the  Cultivated  Man       79 

ing  cultivation.  But  some  one  will  say  the  stream  of 
the  world  is  foul.  True  in  part.  The  stream  is,  what 
it  has  been,  a  mixture  of  foulness  and  purity,  of  mean- 
ness and  majesty ;  but  it  has  nourished  individual  virtue 
and  race  civilization.  Literature  and  history  are  a  5 
similar  mixture,  and  yet  are  the  traditional  means  of 
culture.  Are  not  the  Greek  tragedies  means  of  cul- 
ture? Yet  they  are  full  of  incest,  murder,  and  human 
sacrifices  to  lustful  and  revengeful  gods. 

2.    A    cultivated    man   should  express    himself    by  10 
tongue   or   pen   with   some    accuracy    and    elegance; 
therefore  linguistic  training  has  had  great  importance 
in  the  idea  of  cultivation.     The  conditions  of  the  edu- 
cated  world   have,   however,    changed   so   profoundly 
since  the  revival  of  learning  in  Italy  that  our  inherited  15 
ideas  concerning  training  in  language  and  literature 
have  required  large  modifications.     In  the  year  1400 
it  might  have  been  said  with  truth  that  there  was  but 
one  language  of  scholars,  the  Latin,  and  but  two  great 
literatures,  the  Hebrew   and  the  Greek.      Since    that  20 
time,  however,  other  great  literatures  have  arisen,  the 
Italian,  Spanish,  French,  German,  and  above  all  the 
English,   which   has   become   incomparably   the   most 
extensive  and  various  and  the  noblest  of  literatures. 
Under  these  circumstances  it  is  impossible  to  maintain  25 
that  a  knowledge  of  any  particular  literature  is  indis- 
pensable to  culture.     Yet  we  cannot  but  feel  that  the 
cultivated  man  ought  to  possess  a  considerable  ac- 
quaintance with  the  literature  of  some  great  language, 


80  Exposition 

and  the  power  to  use  the  native  language  in  a  pure 
and  interesting  way.  Thus,  we  are  not  sure  that 
Robert  Burns  could  be  properly  described  as  a  cul- 
tivated man,  moving  poet  though  he  was.  We  do  not 
think  of  Abraham  Lincoln  as  a  cultivated  man,  master  5 
of  English  speech  and  writing  though  he  was.  These 
men  do  not  correspond  to  the  type  represented  by  the 
word  "  cultivated/7  but  belong  in  the  class  of  geniuses. 
When  we  ask  ourselves  why  a  knowledge  of  literature 
seems  indispensable  to  the  ordinary  idea  of  cultiva-  10 
tion,  we  find  no  answer  except  this :  that  in  literature 
are  portrayed  all  human  passions,  desires,  and  aspira- 
tions, and  that  acquaintance  with  these  human  feel- 
ings, and  with  the  means  of  portraying  them,  seems  to 
us  essential  to  culture.  These  human  qualities  and  15 
powers  are  also  the  commonest  ground  of  interesting 
human  intercourse,  and  therefore  literary  knowledge 
exalts  the  quality  and  enhances  the  enjoyment  of 
human  intercourse.  It  is  in  conversation  that  cultiva- 
tion tells  as  much  as  anywhere,  and  this  rapid  exchange  20 
of  thoughts  is  by  far  the  commonest  manifestation 
of  its  power.  Combine  the  knowledge  of  literature 
with  knowledge  of  the  "stream  of  the  world"  and  you 
have  united  two  large  sources  of  the  influence  of  the 
cultivated  person.  The  linguistic  and  literary  element  25 
in  cultivation  therefore  abides,  but  has  become  vastly 
broader  than  formerly  —  so  broad,  indeed,  that  selec- 
tion among  its  various  fields  is  forced  upon  every  edu- 
cated youth. 


A  New  Definition  of  the  Cultivated  Man      81 

3.    The  next  great  element  in  cultivation  to  which  I 
ask  your  attention  is  acquaintance  with  some  parts  of 
the  store  of  knowledge  which  humanity  in  its  progress 
from  barbarism  has  acquired  and  laid  up.     This  is 
the  prodigious  store  of   recorded,  rationalized,  and  sys-    5 
'tematized    discoveries,    experiences,  and    ideas.     This 
is   the   store   which   we   teachers   try   to   pass  on   to 
the  rising  generation.     The  capacity  to  assimilate  this 
store  and  improve  it  in  each  successive  generation  is 
the  distinction  of  the  human  race  over  other  animals.  10 
It  is  too  vast  for  any  man  to  master,  though  he  had 
a  hundred  lives  instead  of  one;   and  its  growth  in  the 
nineteenth  century  was  greater  than  in  all  the  thirty 
preceding  centuries  put  together.     In  the  eighteenth 
century  a  diligent  student  with  strong  memory  and  15 
quick   powers   of    apprehension   need   not   have   de- 
spaired of  mastering  a  large  fraction  of  this  store  of 
knowledge.     Long  before  the  end  of  the  nineteenth 
century  such  a  task  had  become  impossible.     Culture, 
therefore,  can  no  longer  imply  a  knowledge  of  every-  20 
thing  —  not   even    a   little   knowledge   of   everything. 
It  must  be  content  with  general  knowledge  of  some 
things,  and  a  real  mastery  of  some  small  portion  of 
the  human  store.     Here  is  a  profound  modification  of 
the  idea  of  cultivation,  which  the  nineteenth  century  25 
has  brought  about.     What  portion  or  portions  of  the 
infinite  human  store  are  most  proper  to  the  cultivated 
man?    The  answer  must  be,  those  which  enable  him, 
with  his  individual  personal  qualities,  to  deal  best  and 


82  Exposition 

sympathize  most  with  Nature  and  with  other  human 
beings.  It  is  here  that  the  passion  for  service  must 
fuse  with  the  passion  for  knowledge.  It  is  natural  to 
imagine  that  the  young  man  who  has  acquainted 
himself  with  economics,  the  science  of  government,  so-  5 
ciology,  and  the  history  of  civilization  in  its  motives, 
objects,  and  methods  has  a  better  chance  of  fusing  the 
passion  for  knowledge  with  the  passion  for  doing 
good  than  the  man  whose  passion  for  pure  knowledge 
leads  him  to  the  study  of  chemical  or  physical  phe-  10 
nomena,  or  of  the  habits  and  climatic  distribution  of 
plants  or  animals.  Yet,  so  intricate  are  the  relations 
of  human  beings  to  the  animate  and  inanimate  creation 
that  it  is  impossible  to  foresee  with  what  realms  of 
nature  intense  human  interests  may  prove  to  be  identi-  15 
fied.  Thus  the  generation  now  on  the  stage  has  sud- 
denly learned  that  some  of  the  most  sensitive  and 
exquisite  human  interests,  such  as  health  or  disease 
and  life  or  death  for  those  we  love,  are  bound  up  with 
the  life  histories  of  parasites  on  the  blood  corpuscles  20 
or  of  certain  varieties  of  mosquitoes  and  ticks.  When 
the  spectra  of  the  sun,  stars,  and  other  lights  began  to 
be  studied,  there  was  not  the  slightest  anticipation 
that  a  cure  for  one  of  the  most  horrible  diseases  to 
which  mankind  is  liable  might  be  found  in  the  X-rays.  25 
While,  then,  we  can  still  see  that  certain  subjects  afford 
more  obvious  or  frequent  access  to  means  of  doing 
good  and  to  fortunate  intercourse  with  our  fellows 
than  other  subjects,  we  have  learned  irom  nineteenth- 


A   New  Definition  of  the  Cultivated  Man       83 

century  experience  that  there  is  no  field  of  real  knowl- 
edge which  may  not  suddenly  prove  contributory  in  a 
high  degree  to  human  happiness  and  the  progress  of 
civilization,  and  therefore  acceptable  as  a  worthy 
element  in  the  truest  culture.  5 

4.    The    only  other    element    in    cultivation    which 
time  will  permit  me  to  treat  is  the  training  of  the  con- 
structive imagination.     The  imagination  is  the  greatest 
of  human  powers,  no  matter  in  what  field  it  works  — 
in  art  or  literature,  in  mechanical  invention,  in  science,  10 
government,  commerce,  or  religion;   and  the  training 
of  the  imagination  is,  therefore,  far  the  most  impor- 
tant part  of  education.     I  use  the  term  "  constructive 
imagination"   because  that   implies    the    creation  or 
building  of  a  new  thing.     The  sculptor,  for  example,  15 
imagines  or  conceives  the  perfect  form  of  a  child  ten 
years  of  age;    he  has  never  seen  such  a  thing,  for  a 
child  perfect  in  form  is  never  produced;   he  has   only 
seen  in  different  children  the  elements  of  perfection, 
here  one  element  and  there  another.     In  his  imagi-  20 
nation  he  combines  these  elements  of  the  perfect  form, 
which  he  has  only  seen  separated,  and  from  this  pic- 
ture in  his  mind  he   carves  the  stone,  and  in  the  exe- 
cution invariably  loses  his  ideal  —  that  is,  falls  short 
of  it  or  fails  to  express  it.     Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  points  25 
out  that  the  painter  can  picture  only  what  he  has  some- 
where seen;  but  that  the  more  he  has  seen  and  noted 
the  surer  he  is  to  be  original  in  his  painting,  because 
his   imaginary   combinations   will   be   original.     Con- 


84  Exposition 

structive  imagination  is  the  great  power  of  the  poet  as 
well  as  of  the  artist;  and  the  nineteenth  century  has 
convinced  us  that  it  is  also  the  great  power  of  the  man 
of  science,  the  investigator,  and  the  natural  philoso- 
pher. What  gives  every  great  naturalist  or  physicist  5 
his  epoch-making  results  is  precisely  the  imaginative 
power  by  which  he  deduces  from  the  masses  of  fact 
the  guiding  hypothesis  or  principle. 

The  educated  world  needs  to  recognize  the  new  vari- 
eties of  constructive  imagination.  Dante  gave  painful  10 
years  to  picturing  on  many  pages  of  his  immortal 
Comedy  of  Hell,  Purgatory,  and  Paradise  the  most 
horrible  monsters  and  tortures  and  the  most  loath- 
some and  noisome  abominations  that  his  fervid  imagi- 
nation could  concoct  out  of  his  own  bitter  experiences  15 
and  the  manners  and  customs  of  his  cruel  times.  Sir 
Charles  Lyell  spent  many  laborious  years  in  search- 
ing for  and  patting  together  the  scattered  evidences 
that  the  geologic  processes  by  which  the  crust  of  the 
earth  has  been  made  ready  for  the  use  of  man  have  20 
been,  in  the  main,  not  catastrophic,  but  gradual  and 
gentle,  and  that  the  forces  which  have  been  in  action 
through  past  ages  are,  for  the  most  part,  similar  to 
those  we  may  see  to-day  eroding  hills,  cutting  canons, 
making  placers,  marshes,  and  meadows,  and  form-  25 
ing  prairies  and  ocean  floors.  He  first  imagined,  and 
then  demonstrated,  that  the  geologic  agencies  are  not 
explosive  and  cataclysmal,  but  steady  and  patient. 
These  two  kinds  of  imagination  —  Dante's  and  LyelPs 


A  New  Definition  of  the  Cultivated  Man       85 

-  are  not  comparable,  but  both  are  manifestations 
of  great  human  power.  Zola,  in  "  La  Bete  Humaine," 
contrives  that  ten  persons,  all  connected  with  the  rail- 
road from  Paris  to  Havre,  shall  be  either  murderers  or 
murdered,  or  both,  within  eighteen  months;  and  he  5 
adds  two  railroad  slaughters  criminally  procured.  The 
conditions  of  time  and  place  are  ingeniously  imag- 
ined, and  no  detail  is  omitted  which  can  heighten  the 
effect  of  this  homicidal  fiction.  Contrast  this  kind  of 
constructive  imagination  with  the  kind  which  con-  10 
ceived  the  great  wells  sunk  in  the  solid  rock  below 
Niagara  that  contain  the  turbines  that  drive  the  dyna- 
mos that  generate  the  electric  force  that  turns  thou- 
sands of  wheels  and  lights  thousands  of  lamps  over 
hundreds  of  square  miles  of  adjoining  territory ;  or  with  15 
the  kind  which  conceives  the  sending  of  human  thoughts 
across  three  thousand  miles  of  stormy  sea  instantane- 
ously on  nothing  more  substantial  than  ethereal  waves. 
There  is  no  crime,  cruelty,  or  lust  about  these  last  two 
sorts  of  imagining.  No  lurid  fire  of  hell  or  human  pas-  20 
sion  illumines  their  scenes.  They  are  calm,  accurate, 
just,  and  responsible,  and  nothing  but  beneficence 
and  increased  human  well-being  results  from  them. 
There  is  going  to  be  room  in  the  hearts  of  twentieth- 
century  men  for  a  high  admiration  of  these  kinds  of  25 
imagination,  as  well  as  for  that  of  the  poet,  artist,  or 
dramatist. 

Another  kind  of  imagination  deserves  a  moment's 
consideration  —  the    receptive      imagination      which 


86  Exposition 

entertains  and  holds  fast  the  visions  which  genius 
creates  or  the  analogies  of  nature  suggest.  A  young 
woman  is  absorbed  for  hours  in  conning  the  squalid 
scenes  and  situations  through  which  Thackeray  por- 
trays the  malign  motives  and  unclean  soul  of  Becky  5 
Sharp.  Another  young  woman  watches  for  days  the 
pairing,  nesting,  brooding,  and  foraging  of  two  robins 
that  have  established  home  and  family  in  the  notch 
of  a  maple  near  her  window.  She  notes  the  unselfish 
labors  of  the  father  and  mother  for  each  other  and  10 
for  their  little  ones,  and  weaves  into  the  simple  drama 
all  sorts  of  protective  instincts  and  human  affections. 
Here  are  two  employments  for  the  receptive  imagina- 
tion. Shall  systematic  education  compel  the  first  but 
make  no  room  for  the  second?  The  increasing  atten-  15 
tion  to  nature  study  suggests  the  hope  that  the  imagi- 
native study  of  human  ills  and  woes  is  not  to  be  allowed 
to  exclude  the  imaginative  study  of  Nature,  and  that 
both  studies  may  count  toward  culture. 

It  is  one  lesson  of  the  nineteenth  century,  then,  that  20 
in  every  field  of  human  knowledge  the  constructive 
imagination  finds  play  —  in  literature,  in  history,  in 
theology,  in  anthropology,  and  in  the  whole  field  of 
physical  and  biological  research.     That  great  century 
has  taught  us  that,  on  the  whole,  the  scientific  imagi-  25 
nation  is  quite  as  productive  for  human  service  as  the 
literary  or    poetic  imagination.     The  imagination    of 
Darwin  or  Pasteur,  for  example,  is  as  high  and  pro- 
ductive a  form  of  imagination  as  that  of  Dante,  or 


A  New  Definition  of  the  Cultivated  Man      87 

Goethe,  or  even  Shakespeare,  if  we  regard  the  human 
uses  which  result  from  the  exercise  of  imaginative 
powers,  and  mean  by  human  uses  not  merely  meat 
and  drink,  clothes  and  shelter,  but  also  the  satisfaction 
of  mental  and  spiritual  needs.  We  must,  therefore,  5 
allow  in  our  contemplation  of  the  cultivated  man  a 
large  expansion  of  the  fields  in  which  the  cultivated 
imagination  may  be  exercised.  We  must  extend  our 
training  of  the  imagination  beyond  literature  and  the 
fine  arts,  to  history,  philosophy,  science,  government,  10 
and  sociology.  We  must  recognize  the  prodigious 
variety  of  fruits  of  the  imagination  that  the  nineteenth 
century  has  given  to  our  race. 

It  results  from  this  brief  survey  that  the  elements 
and  means  of  cultivation  are  much  more  numerous  15 
than  they  used  to  be ;  so  that  it  is  not  wise  to  say  of  any 
one  acquisition  or  faculty  —  with  it  cultivation  becomes 
possible,  without  it  impossible.  The  one  acquisition 
or  faculty  may  be  immense,  and  yet  cultivation  may  not 
have  been  attained.  Thus  it  is  obvious  that  a  man  20 
may  have  a  wide  acquaintance  with  music,  and  possess 
great  musical  skill  and  that  wonderful  imaginative 
power  which  conceives  delicious  melodies  and  harmo- 
nies for  the  delight  of  mankind  through  centuries,  and 
yet  not  be  a  cultivated  man  in  the  ordinary  acceptation  25 
of  the  words.  We  have  met  artists  who  were  rude  and 
uncouth,  yet  possessed  a  high  degree  of  technical  skill 
and  strong  powers  of  imagination.  We  have  seen  phi- 
lanthropists and  statesmen  whose  minds  have  played 


88  Exposition 

on  great  causes  and  great  affairs,  and  yet  who  lacked  a 
correct  use  of  their  native  language,  and  had  no  his- 
torical perspective  or  background  of  historical  knowl- 
edge. 

On  the  other  hand,  is  there  any  single  acquisition  or    5 
faculty  which  is  essential  to  culture,  except  indeed  a 
reasonably  accurate  and  refined  use  of  the  mother 
tongue  ? 

Again,  though  we  can  discern  in  different  individuals 
different  elements  of  the  perfect  type  of  cultivated  man,  10 
we  seldom  find  combined  in  any  human  being  all  the 
elements  of  the  type.  Here,  as  in  painting  or  sculpture, 
we  make  up  our  ideal  from  traits  picked  out  from 
many  imperfect  individuals  and  put  together.  We 
must  not,  therefore,  expect  systematic  education  to  15 
produce  multitudes  of  highly  cultivated  and  symmet- 
rically developed  persons ;  the  multitudinous  product 
will  always  be  imperfect,  just  as  there  are  no  perfect 
trees,  animals,  flowers,  or  crystals. 

It  has  been  my  object  to  point  out  that  our  concep-  20 
tion  of  the  type  of  cultivated  man  has  been  greatly 
enlarged,  and  on  the  whole  exalted,  by  observation  of 
the  experiences  of  mankind  during  the  last  hundred 
years.    Let  us  as  teachers  accept  no  single  element 
or  kind  of  culture  as  the  one  essential ;  let  us  remem-  25 
ber  that  the  best  fruits  of  real  culture  are  an  open  mind, 
broad   sympathies,    and   respect   for   all   the   diverse 
achievements  of  the  human  intellect  at  whatever  stage 
of  development  they  may  actually  be'— the  stage  of 


A  New  Definition  of  the  Cultivated  Man      89 

fresh  discovery,  or  bold  exploration,  or  complete 
conquest.  Let  us  remember  that  the  moral  elements 
of  the  new  education  are  individual  choice  of  studies 
and  career  among  a  great,  new  variety  of  studies  and 
careers,  early  responsibility  accompanying  this  freedom  5 
of  choice,  love  of  truth  now  that  truth  may  be  directly 
sought  through  rational  inquiry,  and  an  omnipresent 
sense  of  social  obligation.  These  moral  elements  are 
so  strong  that  the  new  forms  of  culture  are  likely  to 
prove  themselves  quite  as  productive  of  morality,  high-  10 
mindedness,  and  idealism  as  the  old. 


THE  YOUNG  MAN'S  FUTURE1 
FRANK  A.  VANDERLIP 

BANKERS  are  more  or  less  given  to  prediction,  to 
the  making  of  forecasts  and  prophecies.  They  must 
form  opinions  in  regard  to  the  future.  It  is  a  part  of 
their  business  to  have  definite  ideas  as  to  whether 
money  is  to  be  easy  or  close,  whether  business  will  5 
be  active  or  dull,  whether  collections  will  be  good  or 
otherwise. 

Financial  prophecy,  however,  is  full  of  difficulties. 
There  are  many  currents  and  cross  currents  to  be 
reckoned  with.  The  whole  field  of  action  is  so  much  10 
larger  than  any  man's  vision  that  inadvertently  he  may 
leave  out  of  consideration  matters  of  vital  importance. 
The  course  of  affairs  may  be  completely  altered  by 
psychological  conditions  which  cannot  be  weighed  in 
the  most  carefully  prepared  tables  of  statistics.  At  15 
best  the  keenest  and  wisest  observers  must  write  "E. 
&  O.  E."  in  large  letters  after  their  attempts  to  divine 
the  financial  future.  These  distinguished  bank  offi- 
cers who  have  dined  with  you  this  evening  are  un- 
doubtedly skilled  in  such  a  correct  grouping  of  facts  as  20 

1  Reprinted   by   permission   from   "  Business    and    Education." 
Copyright,  1907,  by  Duffield  &  Company. 

90 


The  Young  Man's  Future  91 

enables  them  to  draw  accurate  conclusions  in  regard 
to  the  financial  future. 

There  is  another  line  of  prophecy,  however,  which 
is,  I  believe,  quite  as  interesting,  and  far  easier.     If  I 
were  forced  to  turn  seer  and  to  undertake  to  forecast    5 
future  events,  and  could  I  have  my  choice  of  fields,  I 
would  keep  quite  clear  of  any  attempt  at  forecasting- 
future  financial  affairs,  and  would  adopt  the  easier 
course  of  attempting  to  predict  the  measure  of  suc- 
cess or  of  failure  that  is  likely,  with  added  years,  to  10 
come  to  a  young  man.     Men  o'ught  to  be  as  interesting 
as  markets.     I  am  certain  that  a  prediction  can  be 
made  regarding  the  future  of  a  young  man,  if  we  have 
at  hand  the  necessary  data,  with  as  much  accuracy  as 
we  can  predict  the  future  of  the  market.     There  are  15 
many  bank  officers  here  who  could,  I  have  no  doubt, 
predict,  with  correctness,  the  future  course  of  money 
rates,  of  bank  reserves  or  of  gold  imports,  but  with 
still  greater  chances  of  accuracy,  I  believe,  they  could 
predict  the  future  careers  of  some  of  the  members  of  20 
this  chapter  of  the  American  Institute  of  Bank  Clerks. 

I  believe  it  is  possible  to  formulate  certain  rules  and 
principles  which,  applied  to  the  data  in  regard  to  a 
young  man's  capacity,  character,  and  tendencies,  will 
enable  one  to  make  an  accurate  estimate  of  his  chances  25 
of  success  or  his  dangers  of  failure.  If  it  is  possible  to 
lay  down  such  rules,  then  some  knowledge  of  those 
rules  ought  to  be  of  value  to  young  men.  That  is  so 
because  it  is  within  the  power  of  each  young  man  to 


9  2  Exposition 

change  in  a  large  measure  the  character  of  the  data 
in  his  case.  Young  men  are  not  foreordained  to  fail- 
ure or  success.  Their  future  is,  in  the  main,  of  their 
own  making.  If  they  comprehend  that  certain  char- 
acteristics or  tendencies  which  they  are  forming  will  5 
have  an  enormous  influence  upon  their  future,  if  they 
clearly  see  that  their  career  is  in  but  small  measure  a 
matter  of  chance,  and  is  in  large  measure  the  result 
of  those  early  formed  habits,  characteristics,  and  tend- 
encies, they  will  be  less  likely  to  feel  that  they  must  wait  10 
for  some  brilliant  opportunity  to  prove  themselves; 
they  will  be  more  likely  to  understand  that  success  must 
be  won  by  sincere  effort  applied  to  each  day's  work. 

Without  doubt  there  is  among  the  young  men  who 
are  members  of  this  chapter  of  the  American  Insti-  15 
tute  of  Bank  Clerks  the  future  president  of  a  great 
bank.  I  believe  I  can  pick  out  the  man.  I  shall  not 
name  him;  you  can  do  that  better  than  I;  but  I  am 
going  to  tell  you  exactly  who  he  is.  This  young  man 
has,  of  course,  certain  fundamental  qualities  which  20 
are  and  must  be  common  to  every  successful  man.  He 
started  out  with  good  physique,  and  he  has  not  abused 
that  heritage,  for  no  man  can  be  permanently  success- 
ful without  having  an  extraordinary  capacity  for  work, 
—  and  health  and  working  capacity  are  one.  He  25 
has  been  naturally  endowed  with  a  personality  which 
will  permit  him  to  work  cooperatively  with  his  fellows, 
a  personality  which  will  permit  him  to  win  their  re- 
gard, as  well  as  lead  him  to  recognize-  merit  in  others. 


The  Young  Man's  Future  93 

Then,  as  a  matter  of  course,  he  has  at  least  a  fair 
education ;  he  is  diligent,  capable,  and  has  already  a 
character  so  well  formed  that  there  is  every  reason 
to  believe  that  he  will  have  integrity,  uprightness,  and 
honor  So  ingrained  in  him  that  men  who  know  him  5 
will  come  to  recognize  that  he  is  worthy  of  a  trust. 

But  all  those  characteristics,  necessary  as  they  are, 
by  no  means  serve  to  designate  the  man.  Those 
characteristics  are  general,  and  ought  to  be  possessed 
by  every  young  man.  10 

There  are  additional  characteristics  possessed  by 
the  young  man  I  am  picking  out,  and  they  are  the  ones 
which  will  enable  me  more  definitely  to  designate  him. 

Given  first  those  sound  fundamentals,  —  good 
health,  good  character,  at  least  a  fair  education,  in-  15 
dustry,  and  capacity,  —  we  have  then  only  deter- 
mined the  general  class  from  which  we  will  pick  our 
man.  This  man  I  am  indicating  does  his  regular 
work  well,  but  he  has  recognized  that  he  must,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  make  his  ordinary  day's  work  a  20 
matter  of  constant  good  records.  He  sees  that  he  is  not 
entitled  to  special  credit,  and  is  not  likely  to  receive 
extraordinary  rewards  for  merely  a  record  of  ordinary 
good  work,  and  so  he  has  to  come  to  recognize  that 
those  lines  which  mark  the  limits  of  his  daily  task  are  25 
not  barriers  to  his  further  effort.  Those  lines  merely 
mark  the  work  he  has  first  to  do.  He  has  learned 
that  every  occasion  that  is  offered,  every  opening 
that  he  could  himself  make,  which  would  permit  him 


94  Exposition 

to  break  through  those  lines  which  mark  his  special 
daily  duty  and  give  him  a  chance  to  do  other  work, 
is  an  opportunity  of  the  greatest  importance.  That 
statement  is  no  platitude;  data  bearing  on  that  phase 
of  a  young  man's  character  form  one  of  the  most  illumi-  5 
nating  guides  we  have  in  forecasting  a  career.  It  tells 
the  measure  of  the  man's  coming  usefulness;  it  tells 
how  quickly  he  will  learn  the  whole  detail  of  his  busi- 
ness; it  tells  whether  he  has  that  invaluable  spirit  of 
cooperation  without  which  great  success  cannot  be  10 
built.  The  man  we  are  picking  out  has  learned  that 
lesson.  He  knows  that  of  all  things  necessary  for  his 
development  opportunity  is  one  of  the  most  essential,  — 
opportunity  to  work,  opportunity  to  learn.  He  has 
found  that  doing  some  other  man's  work  in  addition  to  15 
his  own,  when  occasion  offered,  has  made  him  master  of 
some  other  man's  knowledge,  and  has  added  greatly  to 
his  own  capabilities  and  his  value.  He  has  found  that  his 
true  salary  is  made  up  of  two  parts ;  that  the  money  he 
receives  is  but  one  part  of  it,  the  opportunity  to  learn  is  20 
the  other.  He  has  not  feared  he  would  work  too  much 
for  the  salary  he  was  getting,  because  he  has  found  that 
working  is  learning,  and  that  what  he  is  learning  is 
after  all  by  far  the  more  valuable  part  of  his  salary. 

When  a  young  man  has  learned  that  an  added  duty  25 
is  a  new  opportunity  of  great  value,  when  he  has  learned 
that  an  added  task  is  something  to  be  welcomed  with 
enthusiasm,  he  has  marked  himself  for  promotion,  he 
has  separated  himself  from  those  of  his  fellows  who 


The  Young  Marts  Future  95 

believe  in  making  their  services  just  balance  their 
salaries ;  he  has  opened  the  door  of  opportunity  and 
his  progress  is  likely  to  be  rapid  toward  a  complete 
mastery  of  the  details  of  his  business. 

I  wish  I  had  the  eloquence  fully  to  emphasize  the  5 
strength  of  my  belief  in  the  practical,  hard-headed 
sense  of  these  assertions  —  to  emphasize  my  faith  in  the 
result  of  an  everyday  application  of  them.  If  I  un- 
derstand correctly  any  single  principle  on  which  suc- 
cess is  based,  I  know  that  a  true  one  is  this :  Do  more  10 
than  you  have  to  do  that  you  may  learn  more  than 
you  need  to  know  for  doing  your  own  simple  daily 
task,  and  with  this  broader  doing  and  wider  learning 
you  will  be  laying  the  substantial  foundation  that  is 
required  for  any  career  of  eminence.  15 

There  is  another  lesson  of  great  value  which  has 
been  learned  by  this  young  man  whom  I  am  designat- 
ing to  you  as  a  future  bank  president.  He  has  learned 
systematically  to  use  the  time  which  is  available  out- 
side of  his  regular  work.  You  will  find  that  this  young  20 
man  whom  I  am  singling  out  has  not  been  satisfied 
with  the  progress  he  has  made  in  the  course  of  his 
regular  work.  He  may  have  started  with  a  broad, 
sound  education ;  but  even  so,  he  soon  found  he  would 
need  a  more  specialized  education  if  he  were  thor-  25 
oughly  to  master  the  principles  of  his  business.  He 
attacked  this  problem  of  a  specialized  education  with 
the  same  energy  and  enthusiasm  which  he  has  brought 
to  his  daily  work  at  the  bank.  There  has  been  noth- 


96  Exposition 

ing  desultory  and  intermittent  about  his  method.  The 
work  has  been  systematically  planned  and  constantly 
carried  on.  The  work  in  itself  has  been  a  pleasure  in 
the  doing ;  in  its  result  it  has  given  to  this  young  man 
a  specialized  knowledge  and  a  grasp  of  principles  5 
which  in  the  future  will  be  of  a  value  to  him  greater 
than  he  now  can  comprehend. 

There  is  one  more  characteristic  which  the  young 
man  possesses  and  to  which  I  want  to  call  your  atten- 
tion. It  is  a  characteristic  which  might  lead  some  10 
of  you  to  doubt  that  he  was  marked  for  large  success. 
You  may  perhaps  have  thought  that  he  lacked  a  cer- 
tain shrewdness,  that  his  ambition  for  personal  advance- 
ment was  not  keen  enough,  that  he  was  a  little  slow- 
going  when  it  came  to  forcing  recognition  of  his  own  15 
abilities  and  hard  work.  Just  there  is  where  you  may 
be  wrong.  This  man's  interest  in  the  work  has  been 
greater  than  his  interest  in  himself.  To  get  the  thing 
rightly  done  has  been  his  thought  rather  than  merely 
to  get  the  credit  for  doing  it.  In  traveling  along  the  20 
road  leading  to  success  a  man  should  not  have  his 
eyes  solely  on  the  milestones;  in  straining  to  see  the 
milestone,  which  is  too  far  ahead,  one  may  fail  to 
avoid  the  obstacle  directly  in  the  path.  That  advice 
does  not  alone  apply  to  the  progress  of  the  young  25 
man.  It  is  a  truth  that  he  may  well  heed,  even  after 
he  has  reached  a  position  of  much  influence  and  power. 
The  great  man  in  commerce  to-day  is  the  cooperative 
man,  the  man  who  sees  clearly  the  right  thing  to  be 


The  Young  Man's  Future  97 

accomplished  and  is  willing  to  sink  his  individuality 
to  accomplish  it;  the  man  who  is  more  interested  in 
getting  the  thing  done  than  he  is  in  getting  credit  for 
doing  it:  We  must  give  great  prominence  to  that  qual- 
ity of  patience  which  our  future  bank  president  pos-  5 
sesses.  Patience  to  wait  for  personal  reward,  patience 
to  work  cooperatively  with  others,  a  patience  which 
rises  to  self-abnegation  before  a  great  work  to  be  done 
—  a  self-abnegation  which  sees  only  the  one  thing,  and 
that  is  the  thing  to  be  accomplished,  and  is  willing  10 
to  sink  for  the  time  the  gratification  of  ambition,  per- 
sonal pride,  and  personal  reward. 

Here  then  is  the  man:    He  has  health,  character, 
ability,  industry.     More  than  that,  he  has  learned  to 
welcome  new  work  as  new  opportunity,  and  he  has  15 
learned  systematically  to  use  his  time  outside  of  his 
regular  work  in  gaining  a  specialized  knowledge  which 
will  give  him  a  thorough  grasp  of  the  principles  of  his 
business ;  and  then  above  all  that,  he  has  taken  greater 
interest  in  his  work  than  in  himself.     He  has  cared  20 
more  for  getting  the  thing  done  right  than  he  has  for 
getting  the  personal  credit  of  doing  it. 

I  have  laid  before  you  the  data  which  will  enable 
you,  with  almost  unerring  accuracy,  to  name  the  man. 
Unless  there  is  some  defect  of  personality  or  some  acci-  25 
dent  of  opportunity,  the  man  who  best  fits  this  outline 
will  in  a  decade  stand  out  from  among  his  fellows 
a  leader ;  he  will  be  wearing  the  honors  of  distinc- 
tion and  carrying  the  burdens  of  responsibility. 


THE  CHARACTER  OF  THE  INDIAN1 
FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

OF  the  Indian  character,  much  has  been  written 
foolishly,  and  credulously  believed.  By  the  rhap- 
sodies of  poets,  the  cant  of  sentimentalists,  and  the 
extravagance  of  some  who  should  have  known  better, 
a  counterfeit  image  has  been  tricked  out,  which  might  5 
seek  in  vain  for  its  likeness  through  every  corner  of  the 
habitable  earth ;  an  image  bearing  no  more  resemblance 
to  its  original  than  the  monarch  of  the  tragedy  and  the 
hero  of  the  epic  poem  bear  to  their  living  prototypes  in 
the  palace  and  the  camp.  The  shadows  of  his  wilder-  10 
ness  home,  and  the  darker  mantle  of  his  own  inscru- 
table reserve,  have  made  the  Indian  warrior  a  wonder 
and  a  mystery.  Yet  to  the  eye  of  rational  observation 
there  is  nothing  unintelligible  in  him.  He  is  full,  it  is 
true,  of  contradiction.  He  deems  himself  the  center  of  15 
greatness  and  renown;  his  pride  is  proof  against  the 
fiercest  torments  of  fire  and  steel;  and  yet  the  same 
man  would  beg  for  a  dram  of  whisky,  or  pick  up  a 
crust  of  bread  thrown  to  him  like  a  dog,  from  the  tent 
door  of  the  traveler.  At  one  moment,  he  is  wary  and  20 
cautious  to  the  verge  of  cowardice;  at  the  next,  he 
abandons  himself  to  a  very  insanity  of  recklessness; 

1  Copyrighted  by  Little,  Brown,  &  Company;  reproduced  by  per- 
mission of  the  publishers. 


The  Character  of  the  Indian  99 

and  the  habitual  self-restraint  which  throws  an  impene- 
trable veil  over  emotion  is  joined  to  the  unbridled 
passions  of  a  beast  or  a  madman. 

Such  inconsistencies,  strange  as  they  seem  in  our 
eyes,  when  viewed  under  a  novel  aspect,  are  but  the  5 
ordinary  incidents  of  humanity.  The  qualities  of  the 
mind  are  not  uniform  in  their  action  through  all  the 
relations  of  life.  With  different  men,  and  different 
races  of  men,  pride,  valor,  prudence,  have  different 
forms  of  manifestation,  and  where  in  one  instance  they  10 
lie  dormant,  in  another  they  are  keenly  awake.  The 
conjunction  of  greatness  and  littleness,  meanness  and 
pride,  is  older  than  the  days  of  the  patriarchs;  and 
such  antiquated  phenomena,  displayed  under  a  new 
form  in  the  unreflecting,  undisciplined  mind  of  a  15 
savage,  call  for  no  special  wonder,  but  should  rather 
be  classed  with  the  other  enigmas  of  the  fathomless 
human  heart.  The  dissecting  knife  of  a  Rochefou- 
cault  might  lay  bare  matters  of  no  less  curious  obser- 
vation in  the  breast  of  every  man.  20 

Nature  has  stamped  the  Indian  with  a  hard  and  stern 
physiognomy.  Ambition,  revenge,  envy,  jealousy,  are 
his  ruling  passions ;  and  his  cold  temperament  is  little 
exposed  to  those  effeminate  vices  ^which  are  the  bane 
of  milder  races.  With  him  revenge  is  an  overpowering  25 
instinct;  nay,  more,  it  is  a  point  of  honor  and  a  duty. 
His  pride  sets  all  language  at  defiance.  He  loathes  the 
thought  of  coercion;  and  few  of  his  race  have  ever 
stooped  to  discharge  a  menial  office.  A  wild  love  of 


ioo  Exposition 

liberty,  an  utter  intolerance  of  control,  lie  at  the  basis 
of  his  character,  and  fire  his  whole  existence.  Yet, 
in  spite  of  this  haughty  independence,  he  is  a  devout 
hero-worshiper;  and  high  achievement  in  war  or 
policy  touches  a  chord  to  which  his  nature  never  fails  5 
to  respond.  He  looks  up  with  admiring  reverence  to 
the  sages  and  heroes  of  his  tribe ;  and  it  is  this  princi- 
ple, joined  to  the  respect  for  age  springing  from  the 
patriarchal  element  in  his  social  system,  which,  beyond 
all  others,  contributes  union  and  harmony  to  the  erratic  10 
members  of  an  Indian  community.  With  him  the  love 
of  glory  kindles  into  a  burning  passion;  and  to  allay 
its  cravings,  he  will  dare  cold  and  famine,  fire,  tem- 
pest, torture,  and  death  itself. 

These  generous  traits   are  overcast  by  much   that  15 
is  dark,  cold,  and  sinister,  by  sleepless  distrust,  and 
rankling  jealousy.     Treacherous  himself,  he  is  always 
suspicious  of  treachery  in  others.     Brave  as  he  is,  — 
and  few  of  mankind  are  braver,  —  he  will  vent  his 
passion  by  a  secret  stab  rather  than  an  open  blow.  20 
His  warfare  is  full  of  ambuscade  and  stratagem ;   and 
he  never  rushes  into  battle  with  that  joyous  self-aban- 
donment with  which  the  warriors  of   the  Gothic  races 
flung  themselves  into  the  ranks  of  their  enemies.     In 
his  feasts  and  his  drinking-bouts  we  find  none  of  that  25 
robust  and  full-toned  mirth  which  reigned  at  the  rude 
carousals  of  our  barbaric  ancestry.     He  is  never  jo- 
vial in  his  cups,  and  maudlin  sorrow  or  maniacal  rage 
is  the  sole  result  of  his  potations. 


The  Character  of  the  Indian  101 

Over  all  emotion  he  throws  the  veil  of  an  iron  self- 
control,  originating  in  a  peculiar  form  of  pride,  and 
fostered  by  rigorous  discipline  from  childhood  upward. 
He  is  trained  to  conceal  passion,  and  not  to  subdue  it. 
The  jnscrutable  warrior  is  aptly  imaged  by  the  hack-  5 
neyed  figure  of  a  volcano  covered  with  snow;  and  no 
man  can  say  when  or  where  the  wildfire  will  burst 
forth.  This  shallow  self-mastery  serves  to  give  dignity 
to  public  deliberation,  and  harmony  to  social  life. 
Wrangling  and  quarrel  are  strangers  to  an  Indian  10 
dwelling ;  and  while  an  assembly  of  the  ancient  Gauls 
was  garrulous  as  a  convocation  of  magpies,  a  Roman 
senate  might  have  taken  a  lesson  from  the  grave  solem- 
nity of  an  Indian  council.  In  the  midst  of  his  family 
and  friends,  he  hides  affections,  by  nature  none  of  the  15 
most  tender,  under  a  mask  of  icy  coldness ;  and  in  the 
torturing  fires  of  his  enemy,  the  haughty  sufferer  main- 
tains to  the  last  his  look  of  grim  defiance. 

His  intellect  is  as  peculiar  as  his  moral  organization. 
Among  all  savages,  the  powers  of  perception  prepon-  20 
derate  over  those  of  reason  and  analysis;  but  this  is 
more  especially  the  case  with  the  Indian.  An  acute 
judge  of  character,  at  least  of  such  parts  of  it  as  his 
experience  enables  him  to  comprehend;  keen  to  a 
proverb  in  all  exercises  of  war  and  the  chase,  he  sel-  25 
dom  traces  effects  to  their  causes,  or  follows  out  ac- 
tions to  their  remote  results.  Though  a  close  observer 
of  external  nature,  he  no  sooner  attempts  to  account 
for  her  phenomena  than  he  involves  himself  in  the  most 


IO2  Exposition 

ridiculous  absurdities;  and  quite  content  with  these 
puerilities,  he  has  not  the  least  desire  to  push  his 
inquiries  further.  His  curiosity,  abundantly  active 
within  its  own  narrow  circle,  is  dead  to  all  things  else ; 
and  to  attempt  rousing  it  from  its  torpor  is  but  a  boot-  5 
less  task.  He  seldom  takes  cognizance  of  general  or 
abstract  ideas ;  and  his  language  has  scarcely  the  power 
to  express  them,  except  through  the  medium  of  figures 
drawn  from  the  external  world,  and  often  highly  pic- 
turesque and  forcible.  The  absence  of  reflection  makes  10 
him  grossly  improvident,  and  unfits  him  for  pursuing 
any  complicated  scheme  of  war  or  policy. 

Some  races  of  men  seem  molded  in  wax,  soft  and 
melting,  at  once  plastic  and  feeble.  Some  races,  like 
some  metals,  combine  the  greatest  flexibility  with  the  15 
greatest  strength.  But  the  Indian  is  hewn  out  of  a 
rock.  You  can  rarely  change  the  form  without  de- 
struction of  the  substance.  Such,  at  least,  has  too 
often  proved  the  case.  Races  of  inferior  energy  have 
possessed  a  power  of  expansion  and  assimilation  to  20 
which  he  is  a  stranger;  and  it  is  this  fixed  and  rigid 
quality  which  has  proved  his  ruin.  He  will  not  learn 
the  arts  of  civilization,  and  he  and  his  forest  must 
perish  together.  The  stern,  unchanging  features  of 
his  mind  excite  our  admiration,  from  their  very  immu-  25 
tability;  and  we  look  with  deep  interest  on  the  fate  of 
this  irreclaimable  son  of  the  wilderness,  the  child  who 
will  not  be  weaned  from  the  breast  of  his  rugged  mother. 
And  our  interest  increases  when  we  discern  in  the 


The  Character  of  the  Indian  103 

unhappy  wanderer,  mingled  among  his  vices,  the  germs 
of  heroic  virtues  —  a  hand  bountiful  to  bestow,  as  it  is 
rapacious  to  seize,  and,  even  in  extremest  famine,  im- 
parting its  last  morsel  to  a  fellow-sufferer;  a  heart 
which,  strong  in  friendship  as  in  hate,  thinks  it  not  too  5 
much  to  lay  down  life  for  its  chosen  comrade;  a  soul 
true  to  its  own  idea  of  honor,  and  burning  with  an  un- 
quenchable thirst  for  greatness  and  renown. 

The  imprisoned  lion  in  the  showman's  cage  differs 
not  more  widely  from  the  lord  of  the  desert  than  the  10 
beggarly  frequenter  of  frontier  garrisons  and  dram- 
shops differs  from  the  proud  denizen  of  the  woods. 
It  is  in  his  native  wilds  alone  that  the  Indian  must  be 
seen  and  studied.  Thus  to  depict  him  is  the  aim  of  the 
ensuing  History;  and  if,  from  the  shades  of  rock  and  15 
forest,  the  savage  features  should  look  too  grimly  forth, 
it  is  because  the  clouds  of  a  tempestuous  war  have 
cast  upon  the  picture  their  murky  shadows  and  lurid 
fires. 


HENRY  DAVID  THOREAU:    HIS  CHARAC- 
TER AND  OPINIONS1 

ROBERT  Louis  STEVENSON 

THOREAU'S  thin,  penetrating,  big-nosed  face,  even 
in  a  bad  woodcut,  conveys  some  hint  of  the  limita- 
tions of  his  mind  and  character.  With  his  almost  acid 
sharpness  of  insight,  with  his  almost  animal  dexterity 
in  act,  there  went  none  of  that  large,  unconscious  5 
geniality  of  the  world's  heroes.  He  was  not  easy,  not 
ample,  not  urbane,  not  even  kind;  his  enjoyment  was 
hardly  smiling,  or  the  smile  was  not  broad  enough 
to  be  convincing;  he  had  no  waste  lands  nor  kitchen- 
midden  in  his  nature,  but  was  all  improved  and  sharp-  10 
ened  to  a  point.  "He  was  bred  to  no  profession," 
says  Emerson;  "he  never  married;  he  lived  alone; 
he  never  went  to  church;  he  never  voted;  he  refused 
to  pay  a  tax  to  the  State ;  he  ate  no  flesh,  he  drank  no 
wine,  he  never  knew  the  use  of  tobacco;  and,  though  15 
a  naturalist,  he  used  neither  trap  nor  gun.  When  asked 
at  dinner  what  dish  he  preferred,  he  answered,  'the 
nearest. '  "  So  many  negative  superiorities  begin  to 
smack  a  little  of  the  prig.  From  his  later  works  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  cutting  out  the  humorous  pas-  20 

1  From  "  Familiar   Studies   of  Men   and   Books,"     New   York, 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 

104 


Henry  David  Thoreau  105 

sages,  under  the  impression  that  they  were  beneath 
the  dignity  of  his  moral  muse ;  and  there  we  see  the 
prig  stand  public  and  confessed.  It  was  "much 
easier,"  says  Emerson  acutely,  much  easier  for  Tho- 
reau to  say  no  than  yes;  and  that  is  a  characteristic  5 
which  depicts  the  man.  It  is  a  useful  accomplish- 
ment to  be  able  to  say  no,  but  surely  it  is  the  essence 
of  amiability  to  prefer  to  say  yes  where  it  is  possible. 
There  is  something  wanting  in  the  man  who  does 
not  hate  himself  whenever  he  is  constrained  to  say  no.  10 
And  there  was  a  great  deal  wanting  in  this  born  dis- 
senter. He  was  almost  shockingly  devoid  of  weak- 
nesses; he  had  not  enough  of  them  to  be  truly  polar 
with  humanity;  whether  you  call  him  demi-god  or 
demi-man,  he  was  at  least  not  altogether  one  of  us,  for  15 
he  was  not  touched  with  a  feeling  of  our  infirmities. 
The  world's  heroes  have  room  for  all  positive  qualities, 
even  those  which  are  disreputable,  in  the  capacious 
theater  of  their  dispositions.  Such  can  live  many 
lives ;  while  a  Thoreau  can  live  but  one,  and  that  only  20 
with  perpetual  foresight. 

He  was  no  ascetic,  rather  an  Epicurean  of  the  nobler 
sort ;  and  he  had  this  one  great  merit,  that  he  succeeded 
so  far  as  to  be  happy.  "I  love  my  fate  to  the  core  and 
rind,"  he  wrote  once;  and  even  while  he  lay  dying,  25 
here  is  what  he  dictated  (for  it  seems  he  was  already 
too  feeble  to  control  the  pen):  "You  ask  particularly 
after  my  health.  I  suppose  that  I  have  not  many 
months  to  live,  but  of  course  know  nothing  about  it. 


io6  Exposition 

I  may  say  that  I  am  enjoying  existence  as  much  as 
ever,  and  regret  nothing."  It  is  not  given  to  all  to 
bear  so  clear  a  testimony  to  the  sweetness  of  their 
fate,  nor  to  any  without  courage  and  wisdom;  for 
this  world  in  itself  is  but  a  painful  and  uneasy  place  5 
of  residence,  and  lasting  happiness,  at  least  to  the 
self-conscious,  comes  only  from  within.  Now  Tho- 
reau's  content  and  ecstasy  in  living  was,  we  may  say, 
like  a  plant  that  he  had  watered  and  tended  with 
womanish  solicitude;  for  there  is  apt  to  be  something  10 
unmanly,  something  almost  dastardly,  in  a  life  that 
does  not  move  with  dash  and  freedom,  and  that  fears 
the  bracing  contact  of  the  world.  In  one  word,  Tho- 
reau  was  a  skulker.  He  did  not  wish  virtue  to  go  out  of 
him  among  his  fellow-men,  but  slunk  into  a  corner  to  15 
hoard  it  for  himself.  He  left  all  for  the  sake  of  cer- 
tain virtuous  self-indulgences.  It  is  true  that  his 
tastes  were  noble;  that  his  ruling  passion  was  to 
keep  himself  unspotted  from  the  world;  and  that  his 
luxuries  were  all  of  the  same  healthy  order  as  cold  20 
tubs  and  early  rising.  But  a  man  may  be  both  coldly 
cruel  in  the  pursuit  of  goodness,  and  morbid  even  in 
the  pursuit  of  health.  I  cannot  lay  my  hands  on  the 
passage  in  which  he  explains  his  abstinence  from 
tea  and  coffee,  but  I  am  sure  I  have  the  meaning  25 
correctly.  It  is  this:  He  thought  it  bad  economy 
and  worthy  of  no  true  virtuoso  to  spoil  the  natural 
rapture  of  the  morning  with  such  muddy  stimulants; 
let  him  but  see  the  sun  rise,  and  he  was  already  sum- 


Henry  David  Thoreau  107 

ciently  inspirited  for  the  labors  of  the  day.  That 
may  be  reason  good  enough  to  abstain  from  tea;  but 
when  we  go  on  to  find  the  same  man,  on  the  same  or 
similar  grounds,  abstain  from  nearly  everything  that  his 
neighbors  innocently  and  pleasurably  use,  and  from  5 
the  rubs  and  trials  of  human  society  itself  into  the 
bargain,  we  recognize  that  valetudinarian  healthful- 
ness  which  is  more  delicate  than  sickness  itself.  We 
need  have  no  respect  for  a  state  of  artificial  training. 
True  health  is  to  be  able  to  do  without  it.  Shake-  10 
speare,  we  can  imagine,  might  begin  the  day  upon  a 
quart  of  ale,  and  yet  enjoy  the  sunrise  to  the  full  as 
much  as  Thoreau,  and  commemorate  his  enjoyment  in 
vastly  better  verses.  A  man  who  must  separate  him- 
self from  his  neighbors'  habits  in  order  to  be  happy,  15 
is  in  much  the  same  case  with  one  who  requires  to  take 
opium  for  the  same  purpose.  What  we  want  to  see 
is  one  who  can  breast  into  the  world,  do  a  man's  work, 
and  still  preserve  his  first  and  pure  enjoyment  of 
existence.  20 

Thoreau's  faculties  were  of  a  piece  with  his  moral 
shyness;  for  they  were  all  delicacies.  He  could  guide 
himself  about  the  woods  on  the  darkest  night  by  the 
touch  of  his  feet.  He  could  pick  up  at  once  an  exact 
dozen  of  pencils  by  the  feeling,  pace  distances  with  25 
accuracy,  and  gauge  cubic  contents  by  the  eye.  His 
smell  was  so  dainty  that  he  could  perceive  the  fcetor 
of  dwelling  houses  as  he  passed  them  by  at  night ;  his 
palate  so  unsophisticated  that,  like  a  child;  he  dis- 


io8  Exposition 

liked  the  taste  of  wine  —  or  perhaps,  living  in  America, 
had  never  tasted  any  that  was  good;  and  his  knowl- 
edge of  nature  was  so  complete  and  curious  that  he 
could  have  told  the  time  of  year,  within  a  day  or  so,  by 
the  aspect  of  the  plants.  In  his  dealings  with  ani-  5 
mals,  he  was  the  original  of  Hawthorne's  Donatello. 
He  pulled  the  woodchuck  out  of  its  hole  by  the  tail; 
the  hunted  fox  came  to  him  for  protection ;  wild  squir- 
rels have  been  seen  to  nestle  in  his  waistcoat ;  he  would 
thrust  his  arm  into  a  pool  and  bring  forth  a  bright,  10 
panting  fish,  lying  undismayed  in  the  palm  of  his 
hand.  There  were  few  things  that  he  could  not  do. 
He  could  make  a  house,  a  boat,  a  pencil,  or  a  book. 
He  was  a  surveyor,  a  scholar,  a  natural  historian.  He 
could  run,  walk,  climb,  skate,  swim,  and  manage  a  15 
boat.  The  smallest  occasion  served  to  display  his 
physical  accomplishment;  and  a  manufacturer,  from 
merely  observing  his  dexterity  with  the  window  of  a 
railway  carriage,  offered  him  a  situation  on  the  spot. 
"The  only  fruit  of  much  living, "  he  observes,  "is  the  20 
ability  to  do  some  slight  thing  better."  But  such  was 
the  exactitude  of  his  senses,  so  alive  was  he  in  every 
fiber,  that  it  seems  as  if  the  maxim  should  be  changed 
in  his  case,  for  he  could  do  most  things  with  unusual 
perfection.  And  perhaps  he  had  an  approving  eye  to  25 
himself  when  he  wrote:  "Though  the  youth  at  last 
grows  indifferent,  the  laws  of  the  universe  are  not  in- 
different, but  are  forever  on  the  side  of  the  most 
sensitive" 


THE   DESCENT  FROM  THE  CROSS1 
JOHN  LA  FARGE 

THUS,  then,  for  the  Corporation  of  the  Church  of 
St.  Walburga,  and  for  the  Guild  of  the  Arquebusiers 
of  Antwerp,  he  painted,  between  1610  and  1612,  the 
great  paintings  of  the  "Raising  of  the  Cross"  and  the 
"Descent  from  the  Cross."  The  latter  is  the  more  5 
famous  picture  —  perhaps  one  of  the  few  best-known 
paintings  in  the  world.  In  it  Rubens  fixed  the  type 
of  the  subject,  absorbing  in  his  work  the  impressions 
received  from  earlier  masters;  so  that,  whatever  the 
merits  of  others,  however  touching,  however  beautiful,  10 
however  great,  one  feels  in  his  extraordinary  achieve- 
ment a  result  which  can  never  be  dispensed  with. 
The  reminiscence  of  the  big  painting  placed  with 
almost  no  separation  on  the  high,  cold  wall  is  that  of  a 
large,  dark  space,  almost  black,  down  which  slips  a  15 
column  of  white  —  the  sheet  that  carries  the  body  of 
the  Christ  into  the  arms  of  loving  friends.  All  their 
grief  is  contained :  they  are  attending  to  those  last  physi- 
cal duties  we  pay  to  the  departed ;  and  in  the  dramatic 
expression  of  their  feeling  this  exact  balance  is  most  20 
beautifully  and  truthfully  observed.  The  fear  of  a 

1  Reprinted  by  permission  from  McClure's  Magazine,  for  June, 
1902. 

109 


1 10  Exposition 

fall  that  would  shock  the  sense  of  reverence  to  the 
dead  animates  all  the  figures,  each  one  in  a  different 
degree.  Thus,  according  to  the  part  they  play  in  the 
simplest  of  all  dramas,  the  care  for  our  dead,  even 
the  workmen  who  detach  the  body  have  in  their  busi-  5 
ness  just  the  proportionate  sympathy.  It  is  this  feeling 
of  contained  emotion,  difficult  and  rare  in  the  work  of 
a  man  of  exuberant  feelings,  that  distinguishes  this 
painting  of  Rubens,  unless  we  should  except  that  other 
last  scene,  the  "Death  Communion  of  St.  Francis,"  10 
where  again  one  feels  the  contained  struggle  against 
outward  emotion  that  fills  the  attendants  who  help 
the  dying  saint  in  a  last  homage  to  his  Redeemer. 
"The  Descent  from  the  Cross"  is,  then,  a  wise  and 
balanced  work,  composed  of  marvelous  adjustments  15 
of  planes  and  lines,  so  that  each  motion,  each  fold, 
even  the  outbalanced  foot  of  the  man  at  the  arms  of  the 
cross,  who  has  just  let  slip  from  his  shoulder  the  body 
of  the  Christ,  helps  to  form  a  pattern  as  ingeniously 
combined  as  that  of  any  ornamentation  or  brocade,  20 
meant  merely  for  the  soothing  of  the  eye.  But  none 
of  these  subtleties  is  insisted  upon  to  the  detriment 
of  the  dramatic  story,  and,  as  in  most  of  Rubens's 
paintings,  we  are  unaware  of  the  subtlety  and  com- 
binations of  lines  and  surfaces  which  make  the  artis-  25 
tic  structure  of  what  seems  to  us  a  mere  rendering  of 
nature,  or  the  sweep  of  exuberant  and  poetic  passion. 
For  Rubens  is  really  calm  when  he  executes:  he  is 
Jike  the  conductor  of  a  great  orchestratiori,  who  directs 


The  Descent  from  the  Cross  iii 

the  expression  of  stormy  or  gentle  emotion  according 
to  a  scheme,  carefully  devised  and  elaborated  by  a 
mind  that  reduces  all  necessities  to  a  single  effect. 
The  deep  religious  feeling  animating  the  great  paint- 
ing is  not  that  of  a  mystical  or  of  a  self-inquiring  or  5 
sentimental  mind;  it  is  that  of  the  Rubens  we  know 
in  all  the  diversity  of  his  likings,  but  here  contained  in 
manly  obedience  to  the  simple  probabilities  of  such  a 
scene,  and  in  their  expression  is  a  single  type.  Hence 
the  great  standing  of  the  painting  and  the  permanence  10 
of  its  fame.  It  is  built  to  last  forever. 


HABITS ' 
A.  C.  BENSON 

WALTER  PATER  says,  in  his  most  oracular  mood,  in 
that  fine  manifesto  of  a  lofty  Epicureanism  which  is 
known  as  the  Conclusion  to  the  Renaissance  essays, 
that  to  form  habits  is  failure  in  life.  The  difficulty  in 
uttering  oracles  is  that  one  is  obliged  for  the  sake  of  5 
being  forcible  to  reduce  a  statement  to  its  simplest 
terms;  and  when  one  does  that,  there  are  generally  a 
whole  group  of  cases,  which  appear  to  be  covered  by 
the  statement,  which  contradict  it.  It  is  nearly  impos- 
sible to  make  any  general  statement  both  simple  enough  10 
and  large  enough.  In  the  case  of  Pater's  pronounce- 
ment, he  had  fixed  his  mental  gaze  so  firmly  on  a  par- 
ticular phenomenon  that  he  forgot  that  his  words 
might  prove  misleading  when  applied  to  the  facts  of 
life.  What  he  meant,  no  doubt,  was  that  one  of  the  15 
commonest  of  mental  dangers  is  to  form  intellectual 
and  moral  prejudices  early  in  life,  and  so  to  stereotype 
them  that  we  are  unable  to  look  round  them,  or  to 
give  anything  that  we  instinctively  dislike  a  fair  trial. 
Most  people  in  fact,  in  matters  of  opinion,  tend  to  get  20 
infected  with  a  species  of  Toryism  by  the  time  that 

1  Reprinted   by   permission   from    "  From   a   College  Window." 
Copyright,  1906,  by  G.  Putnam's  Sons,  New  York  and  London. 


Habits  113 

they  reach  middle  age,  until  they  get  into  the  frame  of 
mind  which  Montaigne  describes,  of  thinking  so  highly 
of  their  own  conjectures  as  to  be  prepared  to  burn 
other  people  for  not  regarding  them  as  certainties. 
This  frame  of  mind  is  much  to  be  reprobated,  but  it  5 
is  unhappily  common.  How  often  does  one  meet  sen- 
sible, shrewd,  and  intelligent  men,  who  say  frankly 
that  they  are  not  prepared  to  listen  to  any  evidence 
which  tells  against  their  beliefs.  How  rare  it  is  to 
meet  a  man  who  in  the  course  of  an  argument  will  say,  10 
"Well,  I  had  never  thought  of  that  before;  it  must 
be  taken  into  account,  and  it  modifies  my  view." 
Such  an  attitude  is  looked  upon  by  active-minded  and 
energetic  men  as  having  something  weak  and  even 
sentimental  about  it.  How  common  it  is  to  hear  15 
people  say  that  a  man  ought  to  have  the  courage  of  his 
opinions ;  how  rare  it  is  to  find  a  man  who  will  say  that 
one  ought  to  have  the  courage  to  change  one's  opinions. 
Indeed,  in  public  life  it  is  generally  considered  a  kind 
of  treachery  to  change,  because  people  value  what  they  20 
call  loyalty  above  truth.  Pater  no  doubt  meant  that 
the  duty  and  privilege  of  the  philosopher  is  to  keep  his 
inner  eye  open  to  new  impressions,  to  be  ready  to  see 
beauty  in  new  forms,  not  to  love  comfortable  and 
settled  ways,  but  to  bring  the  same  fresh  apprehen-  25 
sion  that  youth  brings  to  art  and  to  life. 

He  is  merely  speaking  of  a  mental  process  in  these 
words;  what  he  is  condemning  is  the  dulling  and 
encrusting  of  the  mind  with  prejudices  and  habits, 


114  Exposition 

the  tendency,  as  Charles  Lamb  wittily  said,  whenever 
a  new  book  comes  out,  to  read  an  old  one,  to  get  into 
the  fireside-and-slippers  frame  of  mind,  to  grumble 
at  novelty,  to  complain  that  the  young  men  are  vio- 
lating all  the  sacred  canons  of  faith  and  art.  5 

This  is  not  at  all  the  same  thing  as  knowing  one's 
own  limitations;  every  one,  whether  he  be  artist  or 
writer,  critic  or  practitioner,  ought  to  take  the  measure 
of  his  forces,  and  to  determine  in  what  regions  he  can 
be  effective;  indeed  it  is  often  necessary  for  a  man  of  10 
artistic  impulses  to  confine  his  energies  to  one  specific 
department,  although  he  may  be  attracted  by  several. 
Pater  was  himself  an  instance  of  this.  He  knew,  for 
instance,  that  his  dramatic  sense  was  weak,  and  he 
wisely  let  drama  alone;  he  found  that  certain  vigorous  15 
writers  exercised  a  contagious  influence  over  his  own 
style,  and  therefore  he  gave  up  reading  them.  But 
within  his  own  region  he  endeavored  to  be  catholic 
and  sympathetic;  he  never  tied  up  the  contents  of 
his  mind  into  packets  and  labeled  them,  a  task  20 
which  most  men  between  thirty  and  forty  find  highly 
congenial. 

But  I  desire  here  to  go  into  the  larger  question  of 
forming  habits;  and  as  a  general  rule  it  may  be  said 
that  Pater's  dictum  is  entirely  untrue,  and  that  success  25 
in  life  depends  more  upon  forming  habits  than  upon 
anything  else,  except  good  health.  Indeed,  Pater  him- 
self is  an  excellent  instance  in  point.  He  achieved 
his  large  output  of  beautiful  literary  work,  the  amaz- 


Habits  115 

ing  amount  of  perfectly  finished  and  exquisitely  ex- 
pressed writing  that  he  gave  to  the  world,  by  an  ex- 
treme and  patient  regularity  of  labor.  He  did  not, 
as  some  writers  do,  have  periods  of  energetic  creation, 
interrupted  by  periods  of  fallow  idleness.  Perhaps  5 
his  work  might  have  been  more  spontaneous  if  he 
could,  like  Milton's  friend,  have  been  wise  enough 
"of  such  delights  to  judge,  and  interpose  them  oft." 
But  the  achievement  of  Pater  was  to  realize  and  to 
carry  out  his  own  individual  method,  and  it  is  upon  10 
doing  this  that  successful  productivity  depends. 

I  could  name,  if  I  chose,  two  or  three  friends  of  my 
own,  men  of  high  and  subtle  intelligence,  admirable 
humor,  undiminished  zest,  who  have  failed,  and 
will  fail,  to  realize  their  possibilities,  simply  by  a  lack  15 
of  method.  Who  does  not  know  the  men  whom  Mr. 
Mallock  so  wittily  describes,  of  whom,  up  to  the  age  of 
forty,  their  friends  say  that  they  could  do  anything 
if  they  only  chose,  and  after  the  age  of  forty  that  they 
could  have  done  anything  if  they  had  chosen  ?  I  have  20 
one  particular  friend  in  my  eye  at  this  moment,  the 
possessor  of  wealth  and  leisure,  who  is  a  born  writer 
if  any  man  ever  was.  He  has  no  particular  duties, 
except  the  duties  of  a  small  landowner  and  the  father 
of  a  family ;  he  is  a  wide  reader,  and  a  critic  of  delicate  25 
and  sympathetic  acuteness.  He  is  bent  on  writing; 
and  he  has  written  a  single  book  crammed  from  end 
to  end  with  good  and  beautiful  things,  the  stuff  of 
which  would  have  sufficed,  in  the  hands  of  a  facile 


n6  Exposition 

writer,  for  half  a  dozen  excellent  books.  He  is, 
moreover,  sincerely  anxious  to  write,  but  he  does  noth- 
ing. If  you  ask  him  —  and  I  conceive  it  to  be  my 
duty  at  intervals  to  chide  him  for  not  producing  more 
—  what  he  does  with  his  time,  hfc  says  with  a  melan-  5 
choly  smile:  "Oh,  I  hardly  know:  it  goes!"  I  trace 
his  failure  to  produce  simply  to  the  fact  that  he  has 
never  set  apart  any  particular  portion  of  the  day  for 
writing ;  he  allows  himself  to  be  interrupted ;  he  enter- 
tains many  guests  whom  he  has  no  particular  wish  to  10 
see;  he  "sets  around  and  looks  ornery,"  like  the  frog; 
he  talks  delightfully ;  an  industrious  Boswell  could, 
by  asking  him  questions  and  taking  careful  notes  of 
his  talk,  fill  a  charming  volume  in  a  month  out  of  his 
shrewd  and  suggestive  conversation;  of  course  it  is  15 
possible  to  say  that  he  practices  the  art  of  living,  to  talk 
of  "gems  of  purest  ray  serene"  and  flowers  "born  to 
blush  unseen"  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  But  his  talk 
streams  to  waste  among  guests  who  do  not  as  a  rule 
appreciate  it ;  and  if  there  is  any  duty  or  responsibility  20 
in  the  world  at  all,  it  is  a  duty  for  men  of  great  en- 
dowments, admirable  humor,  and  poetical  suggestive- 
ness,  to  sow  the  seed  of  the  mind  freely  and  lavishly. 
We  English  are  of  course  the  chosen  race;  but  we 
should  be  none  the  worse  for  a  little  more  intellectual  25 
apprehension,  a  little  more  amiable  charm.  If  my 
friend  had  been  a  professional  man,  obliged  to  earn  a 
living  by  his  pen,  he  would,  I  do  not  doubt,  have  given 
to  the  world  a  series  of  great  books,  which  would  have 


Habits  117 

done  something  to  spread  the  influence  of  the  king- 
dom of  heaven. 

Of  course  there  is  a  sense  in  which  it  is  a  mistake 
to  let  habits  become  too  tyrannical ;  one  ought  not  to 
find  one's  self  hopelessly  distracted  and  irritated  if  5 
one's  daily  programme  is  interfered  with  at  any  point ; 
one  ought  to  be  able  to  enjoy  leisure,  to  pay  visits,  to 
converse  volubly.  Like  Dr.  Johnson,  one  ought  to  be 
ready  for  a  frolic.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  a  man 
takes  himself  seriously  —  and  I  am  here  not  speak-  10 
ing  of  people  with  definite  engagements,  but  of  people, 
like  writers  and  artists,  who  may  choose  their  own 
times  to  do  their  work  —  he  ought  to  have  a  regular 
though  not  an  invariable  programme.  If  he  is  pos- 
sessed of  such  superabundant  energy  as  Walter  Scott  15 
possessed,  he  may  rise  at  five,  and  write  ten  immortal 
octavo  pages  before  he  appears  at  breakfast.  But 
as  a  rule  the  vitality  of  ordinary  people  is  more  lim- 
ited, and  they  are  bound  to  husband  it,  if  they  mean 
to  do  anything  that  is  worth  the  name ;  an  artist  then  20 
ought  to  have  his  sacred  hours,  secure  from  interrup- 
tion; and  then  let  him  fill  the  rest  of  the  day  with 
any  amusement  that  he  finds  to  be  congenial. 

Of  course  the  thing  is  easy  enough  if  one's  work 
is  really  the  thing  in  which  one  is  most  interested.  25 
There  is  very  little  danger,  in  the  case  of  a  man  who 
likes  and  relishes  the  work  he  is  doing  more  than  he 
relishes  any  form  of  amusement;  but  we  many  of  us 
have  the  unhappy  feeling  that  we  enjoy  our  work  very 


n8  Exposition 

much,  if  we  can  once  sit  down  to  it,  only  we  do  not  care 
about  beginning  it.  We  read  the  paper,  we  write  a 
few  letters,  we  look  out  an  address  in  Who's  Who,  and 
we  become  absorbed  in  the  biographies  of  our  fellow- 
men;  very  soon  it  is  time  for  luncheon,  and  then  we  5 
think  that  we  shall  feel  fresher  if  we  take  a  little  exer- 
cise ;  after  tea,  the  weather  is  so  beautiful  that  we  think 
it  would  be  a  pity  not  to  enjoy  the  long  sunset  lights ; 
we  come  in;  the  piano  stands  invitingly  open,  and 
we  must  strike  a  few  chords ;  then  the  bell  rings  for  10 
dressing,  and  the  day  is  gone,  because  we  mistrust  the 
work  that  we  do  late  at  night,  and  so  we  go  to  bed  in 
good  time.  Not  so  does  a  big  book  get  written ! 

We  ought  rather  to  find  out  all  about  ourselves  — 
when  we  can  work  our  best,  how  long  we  can  work  15 
continuously  with  full  vigor;  and  then  round  these 
fixed  points  we  should  group  our  sociability,  or  lei- 
sure, our  amusement.  If  we  are  altruistically  inclined, 
we  probably  say  that  it  is  a  duty  to  see  something  of 
our  fellow- creatures,  that  we  ought  not  to  grow  morose  20 
and  solitary;  there  is  an  abundance  of  excuses  that 
can  be  made ;  but  the  artist  and  the  writer  ought  to 
realize  that  their  duty  to  the  world  is  to  perceive  what 
is  beautiful  and  to  express  it  as  resolutely,  as  attract- 
ively as  they  can ;  if  a  writer  can  write  a  good  book,  25 
he  can  talk  in  its  pages  to  a  numerous  audience;  and 
he  is  right  to  save  up  his  best  thoughts  for  his  readers, 
rather  than  to  let  them  flow  away  in  diffuse  conversa- 
tion. Of  course  a  writer  of  fiction  is  bound  to  make 


Habits  119 

the  observation  of  varieties  of  temperament  a  duty; 
it  is  his  material;  if  he  becomes  isolated  and  self- 
absorbed,  his  work  becomes  narrow  and  mannerized ; 
and  it  is  true,  too,  that,  with  most  writers,  the  colli- 
sion of  mind  with  mind  is  what  produces  the  bright-  5 
est  sparks. 

And  then  to  step  into  a  still  wider  field,  there  is  no 
sort  of  doubt  that  the  formation  of  reasonable  habits, 
of  method,  of  punctuality,  is  a  duty,  not  from  an  ex- 
alted point  of  view,  but  because  it  makes  enormously  10 
for  the  happiness  and  convenience  of  every  one  about 
us.  In  the  old-fashioned  story-books  a  prodigious 
value,  perhaps  an  exaggerated  value,  was  set  upon 
time;  one  was  told  to  redeem  the  time,  whatever 
that  might  mean.  The  ideal  mother  of  the  family,  15 
in  the  little  books  which  I  used  to  read  in  my  child- 
hood, was  a  lady  who  appeared  punctually  at  break- 
fast, and  had  a  bunch  of  keys  hanging  at  her  girdle. 
Breakfast  over,  she  paid  a  series  of  visits,  looked  into 
the  larder,  weighed  out  stores,  and  then  settled  down  20 
to  some  solid  reading  or  embroidered  a  fire  screen; 
the  afternoon  would  be  spent  in  visits  of  benevolence, 
carrying  portions  of  the  midday  dinner  to  her  poorer 
neighbors;  the  evening  would  be  given  to  working 
at  the  fire  screen  again,  while  some  one  read  aloud.  25 
Somehow  it  is  not  an  attractive  picture,  though  it 
need  not  have  been  so  dull  as  it  appears.  The  point 
is  whether  the  solid  reading  had  a  useful  effect  or  not. 
In  the  books  I  have  in  view,  it  generally  led  the  mater- 


1 20  Exposition 

familias  into  having  an  undue  respect  for  correct  in- 
formation, and  a  pharisaical  contempt  for  people  who 
indulged  their  fancy.  In  "  Harry  and  Lucy,"  for  in- 
stance, Lucy,  who  is  the  only  human  figure  in  the  book, 
is  perpetually  being  snubbed  by  the  terrible  hard-headed  5 
Harry,  with  his  desperate  interest  in  machinery,  by 
the  repellent  father  who  delights  to  explain  the  laws  of 
gravity  and  the  parabola  described  by  the  stone  which 
Harry  throws.  What  was  undervalued  in  those  old, 
dry,  high-principled  books  was  the  charm  of  vivid  10 
apprehension,  of  fanciful  imagination,  of  simple, 
neighborly  kindliness.  The  aim  was  too  much  to  im- 
prove everybody  and  everything,  to  impart  and  retain 
correct  information.  Nowadays  the  pendulum  has 
swung  a  little  too  far  the  other  way,  and  children  are  15 
too  much  encouraged,  if  anything,  to  be  childish; 
but  there  is  a  certain  austere  charm  in  the  old,  simple, 
high-minded  household  life  for  all  that. 

The  point  is  that  habit  should  be  there,  like  the  hem 
of  a  handkerchief,  to  keep  the  fabric  together,  but  20 
that  it  should  not  be  relentlessly  and  oppressively 
paraded;  the  triumph  is  to  have  habits  and  to  con- 
ceal them,  just  as  in  Ruskin's  celebrated  dictum,  that  the 
artist's  aim  should  be  to  be  fit  for  the  best  society,  and 
then  that  he  should  renounce  it.  One  ought  to  be  reli-  25 
able,  to  perform  the  work  that  one  undertakes  with- 
out ceaseless  reminders,  to  discharge  duties  easily  and 
satisfactorily;  and  then,  if  to  this  one  can  add  the 
grace  of  apparent  leisureliness,  the  power  of  never  ap- 


Habits  i2i 

pearing  to  be  interrupted,  the  good-humored  readi- 
ness to  amuse  and  to  be  amused,  one  is  high  upon 
the  ladder  of  perfection.  It  is  absolutely  necessary, 
if  one  is  to  play  a  satisfactory  part  in  the  world,  to  be  in 
earnest,  to  be  serious ;  and  it  is  no  less  necessary  to  ab-  5 
stain  from  ostentatiously  parading  that  seriousness. 
One  has  to  take  for  granted  that  others  are  serious  too ; 
and  far  more  is  effected  by  example  than  by  precept, 
in  this,  as  in  most  matters.  But  if  one  cannot  do  both, 
it  is  better  to  be  serious  and  to  show  it  than  to  make  a  10 
show  of  despising  seriousness  and  decrying  it.  It  is 
better  to  have  habits  and  to  let  others  know  it  than  to 
lose  one's  soul  by  endeavoring  to  escape  the  reproach 
of  priggishness,  a  quality  which  in  these  easy-going 
days  incurs  an  excessive  degree  of  odium.  15 


SOCIAL  LIFE  IN  AMERICA1 
ALBERT  BUSHNELL  HART 

OUTSIDE  of  the  contrast  between  the  native  and  the 
immigrant,  the  Eastern  man  and  the  Western,  the  farmer 
and  the  city  man,  lies  the  question  of  American  ideals 
of  conduct.  Social  life  is  a  part  of  history,  both  because 
"the  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor"  make  up  the  5 
record  of  the  great  majority  of  mankind ;  and  because 
the  way  we  live  affects  and  deflects  political  happenings. 
People  eat  and  drink,  and  have  very  decided  opinions 
as  to  taxes  on  breadstuffs  and  the  excise  on  beer.  Peo- 
ple like  to  be  in  the  fashion ;  yet  in  a  spirit  of  patriotic  10 
self-denial  our  revolutionary  ancestors  boycotted  English 
goods.  People  half  a  century  ago  fed  the  hungry  and 
protected  the  oppressed;  and  therefore  saw  no  reason 
why  they  should  be  held  back  by  a  fugitive-slave  law. 
People  came  to  understand  the  importance  of  educa-  15 
tion ;  and  statutes  against  child  labor  sprang  into  exist- 
ence. In  a  thousand  different  ways  social  and  domestic 
life,  especially  of  the  common  people,  finds  its  expres- 

1  From  "  National  Ideals  Historically  Traced,"  by  Albert  Bush- 
nell  Hart.  Vol.  26  of  The  American  Nation.  'Copyright,  1907,  by 
Harper  &  Brothers. 

122 


Social  Life  in  America  123 

sion  in   the    legislation   and   the    government  of   the 
country. 

So  it  has  ever  been.  The  daily  life  of  the  seventeenth 
century  in  the  colonies  helps  to  make  the  history  of  that 
time  picturesque.  Who  would  not  have  hobnobbed  5 
with  Judge  Samuel  Sewall,  to  be  entered  in  his  diary 
'as  "an  entertaining  gentleman "?  Who  would  hot 
have  liked  to  discuss  with  Colonel  William  Byrd  the 
points  of  a  good  negro  field  hand  ?  Who  would  not 
have  enjoyed  sitting  with  William  Penn  over  his  pro-  10 
posed  constitution  for  Pennsylvania?  The  colonies 
had  their  agreeable  side.  Notwithstanding  the  dis- 
eases of  the  New  World,  it  was  a  cleaner  and  healthier 
place  than  the  court  of  King  James  I,  who  never  washed 
his  hands,  but  sometimes  wiped  them  on  a  damp  nap-  15 
kin.  Yet  the  fathers  lived  in  poverty  and  hardship, 
with  few  houses  which  people  would  nowadays  think 
even  comfortable;  with  hand-wrought  nails,  hinges, 
arid  locks ;  with  clothes  of  homespun,  eked  out  with 
small  importations  of  foreign  linen  and  cloth;  with  20 
scanty  amusements  of  any  kind,  except  cockfighting 
and  similar  sports  for  the  coarser  sort.  Yet  people  had 
their  courtings  and  weddings  and  christenings  and 
comely  funerals,  with  abundant  store  of  drinkables. 
They  even  joked  in  a  stately  way,  and  boys  called  after  25 
a  famous  divine,  "  John  Cotton,  thou  art  an  old  fool." 
If  social  life  was  thin  and  eventless,  people  were  the 
more  interested  in  the  affairs  of  Church  and  State,  and 
liked  to  complain  of  "novelties,  oppression,  atheism, 


124  Exposition 

excess,  superfluity,  idleness,  contempt  of  authority,  and 
troubles  in  other  parts  to  be  remembered. "  l 

Against  the  narrowness  of  social  life,  the  South  al- 
ways protested,  and  in  the  eighteenth  century  all  the 
colonies  got  away  from  it.     The  few  rich  men  lived    5 
handsomely  in  houses  like  the  Vassall  mansion  in  Cam- 
bridge, later  the  Longfellow  House,  and  always  the  most 
beautiful  place  of  residence  in  America.     They  had 
velvet  suits,  which  they  carefully  bequeathed  by  will 
to  their  sons;    they  had  coaches  and  four;    they  had  10 
silver  services  like  that  of  John  Hancock,  and  proper 
glasses  and  no  lack  of  Madeira  to  fill  them;  they  wore 
the  crimson  smallclothes  which    still  adorn  the  por- 
traits of  colonial  worthies.     Alongside  these  magnates 
were  the  professional  men,  of  whom  none  but  the  minis-  15 
ters  were  well  educated  or  much  respected.     The  doc- 
tors, to  judge  by  the  account  of  one  of  them,2  were  a 
rude  and    untutored   set,  much   given  to  uproarious 
quarrels  over  the  merits  of  schools  of  medicine  of  which 
they  understood  little;  the  lawyers  in  New  England  20 
were  still  under  suspicion  down  to  the  Revolution,  as  a 
useless  set  of  fellows. 

Professional  men  lived  much  like  the  well-to-do  far- 
mers, in  comfortable  houses,  surrounded  with  those  fam- 
ilies of  ten  and  twelve  children  which  put  far  into  the  25 
future  the  shadow  of  race  suicide.     Life  was  simple  and 
easy  because  there  was  little  to  do.     Servants  were  few, 


1  Eliot,  "  American  Contributions  to  Civilization,"  357-359. 

2  Hamilton's  "  Itinarium,"  passim. 


Social  Life  in  America  125 

because  the  older  children  brought  up  the  younger. 
The  men  of  the  eighteenth  century  lived  in  a  world 
rapidly  enlarging,  with  every  year  more  commerce, 
more  travel,  more  ships,  more  imports,  more  contact 
with  the  world,  and  a  corresponding  rise  of  discontent.  5 
It  was  in  its  way  an  artistic  period ;  many  of  the  public 
tmildings  of  that  time  still  stand  to  show  the  excellent 
taste  of  our  ancestors  in  architecture,  and  the  skill  of  the 
workman  in  reproducing  English  types  of  the  Georgian 
period.  The  architecture  like  the  people  was  for  the  10 
most  part  plain,  practical,  and  infused  with  common 
sense;  there  are  no  majestic  buildings  or  stately  public 
monuments  out  of  that  period.  The  woodwork  and 
furniture  of  the  houses  show  the  same  influence  of  good 
English  taste;  and  the  eighteenth-century  portrait  15 
artists,  Smibert,  Stuart  in  his  successive  brandy-and- 
water  style  and  claret-and-water  style,  and  Copley,  if 
they  created  no  school,  with  credit  carried  out  their 
function  as  painters  in  the  prevailing  English  style. 

It  would  be  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  colonial  life  was  20 
simply  a  small  copy  of  the  English  social  life  of  that 
time.     America  had  no  capital,  no  baths  and  frequented 
resorts,  no  cities,  and  little  of  the  bustle,  gayety,  and 
fashion  of  even  the  English  county  towns.     America  was 
provincial,  and  differed  widely  from  provincial  England  25 
because  there  was  no  titled  aristocracy ;  considering  the 
part  played  in  other  English  colonies  by  men  of  rank,  it 
is  surprising  how  few  ever  found  their  way  to  America, 
and  that  only  one  hereditary  title  even  of  baronet  was 


126  Exposition 

held  there.  With  that  sheet  anchor  gone,  the  galley  of 
fashion  could  be  boarded  by  anybody  who  raised  him- 
self above  his  fellows;  and  the  governors,  the  repre- 
sentatives of  official  dignity,  had  to  make  terms  with 
parvenus  by  creating  them  councilors.  The  colonies  5 
contained  few  owners  of  landed  estates  living  on  their 
rents ;  and  in  no  communities  of  the  world  have  the  poor 
been  so  well  off  and  the  well-to-do  so  little  encumbered 
with  prosperity.  Morally  it  was  a  rude  and  boisterous 
community,  with  a  great  deal  of  hard  drinking.1  Even  10 
in  Puritan  communities  there  was  much  sexual  im- 
morality, and  quarrels  and  riots  were  frequent ;  but  the 
drunkard  was  pardoned,  the  libertine  felt  sorry  when  he 
went  to  church,  and  the  trend  of  society  was  towards 
honesty,  thrift,  and  godliness.  15 

The  status  of  colonial  women  was  much  like  that  of 
their  English  sisters,  respected,  free,  safe,  good-humored, 
but  painfully  ignorant.  Occasionally  arose  a  woman 
like  the  poetess  Anne  Bradstreet,  the  traveler  Madame 
Knight,  or  that  most  delightful  of  new  women,  Eliza  20 
Lucas,  of  South  Carolina,  to  prove  by  their  pens  that 
women  could  think.  To  the  great  majority  of  colonial 
women,  however,  life  was  as  a  later  descendant  of  the 
Puritans  has  described  it :  "  Generations  of  them  cooked, 
carried  water,  washed  and  made  clothes,  bore  children  25 
in  lonely  peril,  and  tried  to  bring  them  up  safely  through 
all  sorts  of  physical  exposures  without  medical  or  surgi- 
cal help,  lived  themselves  in  terror  of  savages,  in  terror 

1  Goelet,  in  Hart's  "  Contemporaries,"  II,  No.  84. 


Social  Life  in  America  127 

of  the  wilderness,  and  under  the  burden  of  a  sad  and 
cruel  creed,  and  sank  at  last  into  nameless  graves,  with- 
out any  vision  of  the  grateful  days  when  millions  of  their 
descendants  should  rise  up  and  call  them  blessed."  * 

American  social  life  after  the  Revolution  was  subject    5 
tp  several  new  influences  which  modified  it.     A  few 
frontier  and  isolated  communities  like  the  eastern  shore 
of  Virginia  and  Cape  Cod  remained  in  the  colonial  con- 
dition.    Where  the  population  thickened  up,  city  life 
began  and  two  currents  of  foreign  influence  were  felt.  10 
The  first,  from  1778  to  1793,  was  the  French,  which 
much  affected  the  American  habits  of  life:   the  lively 
French  officer  with  his  admiration  for  the  American 
pretty  girl,  and  the  French  merchant  with  his  tasteful 
goods,  for  a  time  held  the  market;  then,  when  the  15 
Napoleonic  wars  began,  Great    Britain  resumed  her 
intellectual  and  commercial  sway.     It  was  impossible 
that  the  old  social  forms  should  continue ;  and  the  first 
evidence  of  a  great  change  was  the  sudden  growth  of 
associations  of  every  kind :  the  churches  received  a  na-  20 
tional  organization;  secret  orders,  especially  the  Free 
Masons,  began  to  flourish,  and  societies  for  social  re- 
form multiplied,  such  as  the  Colonization  Society  and 
the  Washingtonian  temperance  societies.2 

As  the  country  developed,  people  started  new  indus-  25 
tries,  wealth  accumulated,  labor  was  cheap,  lumber  and 
brick  abundant;    and  throughout  the  United  States, 

1  Eliot,  "American  Contributions  to  Civilization,"  358. 

2  Cf.  Tocqueville,  "Democracy  in  America  "  (Spencer  ed.),  II,  in. 


128  Exposition 

especially  in  the  northern  sections,  building  went  for- 
ward rapidly  and  the  cities  began  to  widen  out.  This 
was  the  Greek  temple  period  when  the  marble  portico 
of  the  Acropolis  was  imitated  in  sandstone  and  stucco 
throughout  the  United  States ;  and  Bulfinch's  combina-  5 
tion  of  the  classic  and  the  romanesque  in  the  Capitol  at 
Washington  produced  the  first  monumental  building  in 
the  United  States.  After  1815  house  architecture  began 
to  run  down,  and  the  plastic  arts  down  to  1860  were  at  a 
very  low  ebb.  TrumbulPs  exaggerated  historical  pic-  10 
tures  and  a  few  portraits  are  almost  the  only  artistic 
memorials  of  that  time  which  are  valued  by  posterity. 

In  social  life  the  most  noteworthy  thing  was  the  sud- 
den growth  of  domestic  conveniences.  Up  to  1800 
people  lived  much  like  their  ancestors  three  hundred  15 
years  before,  in  houses  many  of  which  had  but  a  single 
great  fireplace.  Now  came  a  series  of  improvements 
which  put  household  life  on  an  entirely  different  footing. 
The  common  use  of  friction  matches  after  1830  saved  an 
infinitude  of  pains  to  the  cook,  the  workman,  and  the  20 
smoker ;  instead  of  the  iron  pots  and  Dutch  ovens  came 
the  air-tight  cook  stove,  an  unspeakably  good  friend  to 
the  housewife;  for  the  open  fire  was  substituted  the 
wood  stove,  and  then  the  coal  stove,  which  leaked  gas 
but  saved  toil  and  trouble ;  for  the  labor  of  the  needle,  25 
which  has  kept  feminine  fingers  employed  from  the  time 
of  Penelope,  came  the  sewing  machine,  rude  enough  at 
first,  which  revolutionized  the  making  of  clothing.  The 
term  "Yankee  notion "  became  known  in  trade,  and 


Social  Life  in  America  129 

included  patent  sausage  mills,  apple  parers,  flatirons, 
and  a  hundred  other  household  labor  savers,  which 
relieved  the  cares  of  life  and  helped  to  prolong  for  an- 
other generation  the  era  of  large  families. 

In  deeper  respects  the  sixty  years   in  which  1830    5 
is  the  mid-point  are  significant ;    and  Tocqueville  mi- 
nutely photographed  and  fixed  the  characteristics  of  this 
time.     He  finds  the  American  remarkably  grave,  taking 
thought  for  the  future  life  and  government  of  his  people. 
American  manners   seem  to  him  easy   and  sincere:  10 
"  They  form,  as  it  were,  a  light  and  loosely  woven  veil, 
through  which  the  real  feelings  and  private  opinions 
of  each  individual  are  easily  discernible."     He  is  struck 
by  an  inborn  feeling  of  social  equality,  such  that  the 
American  does  not  easily  suppose  that  his  company  is  15 
declined.     Society    is    "animated    because    men    and 
things  are  always  changing :  but  it  is  monotonous,  be- 
cause all  these  changes  are  alike."     People  move  about 
little,    and  European   travel   is  uncommon.      Young 
people  are  treated  with  confidence  and  freedom,  and  20 
early  strike  out  their  own  course  of  life.     The  American 
girl  fascinates  the  Frenchman,  and  the  philosopher  sums 
up  his  deliberations  by  saying:   "I  have  nowhere  seen 
women  occupying  a  loftier  position ;  and  if  I  were  asked 
...  to  what  the  singular  prosperity  and  growing  strength  25 
of  that  people  ought  mainly  to  be  attributed,  I  should 
reply  —  to    the    superiority    of    their    women."     The 
picture  painted  by  this  competent  observer  is  of  a  busy, 
thoughtful  folk,  among  whom  all  aptitudes  have  their 


1 30  Exposition 

part,  and  who  give  free  scope  to  the  individual,  yet  are 
somehow  oppressed  by  their  own  spirit,  and  know  not 
how  to  get  out  of  a  monotonous  and  not  very  wide  or 
interesting  life.1 

The  social  changes  of  the  earlier  nineteenth  century    5 
were  accented  after  the  Civil  War,  and  caused  a  larger 
feeling  of  national  life.     The  war  threw  several  million 
men  into  new  combinations,  widened  their  horizons, 
taught    them   to    know   one    another,  broke  up  bar- 
riers.    The    West,    still    farther    extending,    carried  10 
people  across  the  mountains  and  to  the  Pacific.    A 
flood  of  immigration  brought  new  ideas,  and  travel  on 
a  large  scale  took  people  of  American  birth  to  Europe. 
The  South,  while  distinctly  American,  had  kept  up  a 
stricter  social  system  with  caste  distinctions,  but  was  15 
now  opened  up  for   the  commercial  traveler  and  the 
health-seeker;   so  that  the  parts  of  the  Union  were  as 
never  before  interfused  with  one  another.2 

As  in  the  previous  era,  the  "American  passion  for 
physical  well-being "  brought  about  refinements  of  20 
domestic  life.  Cheap  transportation  distributed  fuel, 
and  that  made  possible  a  variety  of  new  forms  of  heat- 
ing hotels,  private  houses,  and  public  and  office  build- 
ings. The  hard  coal  base  burner,  the  hot-air  furnace, 
steam  coils,  hot-water  pipes,  and  electric  radiators,  25 

1  Tocqueville,  "  Democracy  in  America"  (Spencer  ed.),  II,  182, 
202-211,224-236,  242;  cf.  MacDonald,  "  Jacksonian  Democracy," 
Chap.  I;  Smith,  "Parties  and  Slavery,"  Chap.  XIX  (American 
Nation,  XV,  XVIII). 

2Shaler,  "United  States,"  II,  310. 


Social  Life  in  America  131 

each  in  turn  seemed  the  summit  of  human  convenience 
and  comfort.  So  it  was  with  lights :  for  the  old-fash- 
ioned tallow  candle  was  substituted  the  whale-oil 
lamp  and  the  gas  burner,  then  the  kerosene  lamp,  then 
incandescent  gas  and  the  various  forms  of  electric  5 
lighting.  In  colonial  days  people  communicated  by 
express  riders;  then  came  mails  carried  by  men  on 
horseback ;  in  the  thirties  the  mail  train ;  in  the  forties 
the  electric  telegraph;  in  the  seventies  the  telephone; 
in  the  nineties  wireless  telegraphy.  It  was  the  same  in  10 
household  supplies:  time  was  when  very  respectable 
people,  before  they  killed  a  steer,  notified  their  neigh- 
bors and  sold  pieces  all  round,  so  that  everybody 
might  have  fresh  beef.  The  parallel  inventions  of  the 
sealed  provision  can,  which  came  in  after  the  Civil  War,  15 
and  of  transportation  and  storage  on  ice,  brought 
perishable  goods  and  delicacies  within  everybody's 
reach;  while  the  old-fashioned  country  store,  where 
everything  is  sold,  was  developed  on  a  great  scale  in 
the  city  department  stores.  The  foreign  system  of  snug  20 
and  cramped  quarters  was  introduced  into  buildings 
called  tenements,  flats,  or  apartments,  according  to 
their  cost  and  comfort.  The  Philadelphia  World's 
Fair  of  1876  waked  Americans  up  to  a  knowledge 
of  the  possibilities  in  table  service,  silver,  glass,  and  ?s 
furniture,  so  that  luxuries  long  enjoyed  by  the  favored 
few  and  nurtured  by  foreign  travel  were  suddenly 
multiplied  and  sometimes  vulgarized.  Poor  indeed 
is  the  American  family  which  does  not  every  day 


132  Exposition 

gaze  upon  its  own  antique  rug  (possibly  made  in  Phil- 
adelphia), its  stained-glass  window,  and  its  hand- 
painted  oil  picture!  Remote  the  hamlet  from  which 
at  least  one  person  has  not  gone  forth  during  the  last 
ten  years  to  stay  overnight  at  the  Waldorf-Astoria !  5 

The  amusements  of  the  people  have  undergone  a 
similar  transformation:  before  the  war  the  theater  to 
many  good  people  was  a  forbidden  thing,  like  a  pagan 
sacrifice  to  an  early  Christian;  and  those  who  went 
were  drawn,  not  by  the  decorations,  but  by  the  act-  10 
ing,  while  orchestral  concerts  were  the  esoteric  delight 
of  the  few.  Nowadays  amusements  are  distributed 
wholesale.  The  old  stock  companies  which  could  play 
anything  from  "King  Lear"  to  "Bombastes  Furioso" 
have  disappeared,  and  their  place  is  taken  by  musical  15 
performances  on  a  descending  scale  from  grand  opera 
to  light  opera,  from  light  opera  to  opera  bouffe,  from 
opera  bouffe  to  musical  farce,  from  musical  farce  to 
vaudeville.  Americans  are  far  from  being  an  artistic 
people,  but  there  has  developed  an  interest  in  and  20 
knowledge  of  the  arts  which  the  country  never  knew 
before,  due  to  an  impetus  which  has  come  from  foreign 
schools  and  scenes;  and  distinct  American  schools  of 
painting,  sculpture,  and  architecture  have  grown  up. 
Perhaps  the  three  most  distinguished  exhibitors  in  Eng-  25 
land  of  late  years  have  been  the  Americans  Abbey, 
Sargent,  and  Whistler;  in  sculpture,  MacMonnies  and 
Saint- Gaudens  stand  in  the  front  rank  of  the  world's 
artists;  in  architecture,  people  ceased  to  imitate  feebly 


Social  Life  in  America  133 

the  Capitol  at  Washington ;  and  the  weak  Gothic  of 
Vaux  and  the  pseudo-classic  Greek  Temple  gave  place 
to  the  broad  and  simple  plans  of  Richardson  and 
McKim,  who  struck  out  styles  of  their  own  admirably 
fitted  to  the  American  conditions  of  climate.  The  5 
Americans  have  also  developed  a  grandiose  tower 
architecture  which  makes  the  spine  of  New  York 
bristle  like  that  of  San  Gemignano.  Such  temples  as 
Trinity  Church  in  Boston  and  the  Cathedral  of  St.  John 
the  Divine  in  New  York;  such  groups  of  academic  10 
structures  as  those  of  Stanford  University  and  the  Har- 
vard Medical  School ;  such  railway  stations  as  the  Broad 
Street  in  Philadelphia;  such  public  buildings  as  the 
Boston  and  New  York  public  libraries,  the  Chicago 
post-office  and  the  Texas  state  capitol  —  these  show  15 
what  the  New  World  has  power  to  do. 


EMERSON1 
GEORGE  SANTAYANA 

THOSE  who  knew  Emerson,  or  who  stood  so  near  to 
his  time  and  to  his  circle  that  they  caught  some  echo 
of  his  personal  influence,  did  not  judge  him  merely 
as  a  poet  or  philosopher,  nor  identify  his  efficacy  with 
that  of  his  writings.  His  friends  and  neighbors,  the  5 
congregations  he  preached  to  in  his  younger  days,  the 
audiences  that  afterward  listened  to  his  lectures,  all 
agreed  in  a  veneration  for  his  person  which  had  nothing 
to  do  with  their  understanding  or  acceptance  of  his 
opinions.  They  flocked  to  him  and  listened  to  his  10 
word,  not  so  much  for  the  sake  of  its  absolute  mean- 
ing as  for  the  atmosphere  of  candor,  purity,  and 
serenity  that  hung  about  it,  as  about  a  sort  of  sacred 
music.  They  felt  themselves  in  the  presence  of  a  rare 
and  beautiful  spirit,  who  was  in  communion  with  a  15 
higher  world.  More  than  the  truth  his  teaching 
might  express,  they  valued  the  sense  it  gave  them  of 
a  truth  that  was  inexpressible.  They  became  aware, 
if  we  may  say  so,  of  the  ultra-violet  rays  of  his  spec- 
trum, of  the  inaudible  highest  notes  of  his  gamut,  too  20 
pure  and  thin  for  common  ears. 

1  Reprinted  by  permission  from  "  Poetry  and  Religion."  Copyright, 
1900,  by  Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 

134 


Emerson 

This  effect  was  by  no  means  due  to  the  possession 
on  the  part  of  Emerson  of  the  secret  of  the  universe, 
or  even  of  a  definite  conception  of  ultimate  truth. 
He  was  not  a  prophet  who  had  once  for  all  climbed 
his  Sinai  or  his  Tabor,  and  having  there  beheld  the  5 
transfigured  reality,  descended  again  to  make  authori- 
tative report  of  it  to  the  world.  Far  from  it.  At 
bottom  he  had  no  doctrine  at  all.  The  deeper  he 
went  and  the  more  he  tried  to  grapple  with  funda- 
mental conceptions,  the  vaguer  and  more  elusive  they  10 
became  in  his  hands.  Did  he  know  what  he  meant 
by  Spirit  or  the  "Over-Soul"?  Could  he  say  what 
he  understoo'd  by  the  terms,  so  constantly  on  his  lips, 
Nature,  Law,  God,  Benefit,  or  Beauty?  He  could 
not,  and  the  consciousness  of  that  incapacity  was  so  15 
lively  within  him  that  he  never  attempted  to  give  artic- 
ulation to  his  philosophy.  His  finer  instinct  kept  him 
from  doing  that  violence  to  his  inspiration. 

The  source  of  his  power  lay  not  in  his  doctrine, 
but  in  his  temperament,  and  the  rare  quality  of  his  20 
wisdom  was  due  less  to  his  reason  than  to  his  im- 
agination. Reality  eluded  him;  he  had  neither  dili- 
gence nor  constancy  enough  to  master  and  possess 
it;  but  his  mind  was  open  to  all  philosophic  influ- 
ences, from  whatever  quarter  they  might  blow;  the  25 
lessons  of  science  and  the  hints  of  poetry  worked 
themselves  out  in  him  to  a  free  and  personal  religion. 
He  differed  from  the  plodding  many,  not  in  knowing 
things  better,  but  in  having  more  ways  of  knowing 


136  Exposition 

them.  His  grasp  was  not  particularly  firm,  he  was 
far  from  being,  like  a  Plato  or  an  Aristotle,  past 
master  in  the  art  and  the  science  of  life.  But  his 
mind  was  endowed  with  unusual  plasticity,  with  un- 
usual spontaneity  and  liberty  of  movement  —  it  was  5 
a  fairyland  of  thoughts  and  fancies.  He  was  like  a 
young  god  making  experiments  in  creation :  he  blotched 
the  work,  and  always  began  again  on  a  new  and  better 
plan.  Every  day  he  said,  "Let  there  be  light, "  and 
every  day  the  light  was  new.  His  sun,  like  that  of  10 
Heraclitus,  was  different  every  morning. 

What  seemed,  then,  to  the  more  earnest  and  less 
critical  of  his  hearers  a  revelation  from  above  was  in 
truth  rather  an  insurrection  from  beneath,  a  shak- 
ing loose  from  convention,  a  disintegration  of  the  15 
normal  categories  of  reason  in  favor  of  various  im- 
aginative principles,  on  which  the  world  might  have 
been  built,  if  it  had  been  built  differently.  This  gift 
of  revolutionary  thinking  allowed  new  aspects,  hints 
of  wider  laws,  premonitions  of  unthought-of  funda-  20 
mental  unities  to  spring  constantly  into  view.  But 
such  visions  were  necessarily  fleeting,  because  the 
human  mind  had  long  before  settled  its  grammar, 
and  discovered,  after  much  groping  and  many  de- 
feats, the  general  forms  in  which  experience  will  al-  25 
low  itself  to  be  stated.  These  general  forms  are  the 
principles  of  common  sense  and  positive  science,  no 
less  imaginative  in  their  origin  than  those  notions 
which  we  now  call  transcendental,  but  grown  prosaic, 


Emerson  137 

like  the  metaphors  of  common   speech,   by  dint  of 
repetition. 

Yet  authority,  even  of  this  rational  kind,  sat  lightly 
upon  Emerson.  To  reject  tradition  and  think  as  one 
might  have  thought  if  no  man  had  ever  existed  before  5 
\yas  indeed  the  aspiration  of  the  Transcendentalists, 
and  although  Emerson  hardly  regarded  himself  as  a 
member  of  that  school,  he  largely  shared  its  tendency 
and  passed  for  its  spokesman.  Without  protesting 
against  tradition,  he  smilingly  eluded  it  in  his  thoughts,  10 
untamable  in  their  quiet  irresponsibility.  He  fled  to  his 
woods  or  to  his  "pleachfed  garden,"  to  be  the  crea- 
tor of  his  own  worlds  in  solitude  and  freedom.  No 
wonder  that  he  brought  thence  to  the  tightly  con- 
ventional minds  of  his  contemporaries  a  breath  as  if  15 
from  paradise.  His  simplicity  in  novelty,  his  pro- 
fundity, his  ingenuous  ardor  must  have  seemed  to 
them  something  heavenly,  and  they  may  be  excused 
if  they  thought  they  detected  inspiration  even  in  his 
occasional  thin  paradoxes  and  guileless  whims.  They  20 
were  stifled  with  conscience  and  he  brought  them  a 
breath  of  Nature;  they  were  surfeited  with  shallow 
controversies  and  he  gave  them  poetic  truth. 

Imagination,  indeed,  is  his  single  theme.  As  a 
preacher  might  under  every  text  enforce  the  same  les-  25 
sons  of  the  Gospel,  so  Emerson  traces  in  every  sphere 
the  same  spiritual  laws  of  experience  —  compensa- 
tion, continuity,  the  self-expression  of  the  Soul  in  the 
forms  of  Nature  and  of  society,  until  she  finally  recog- 


138  Exposition 

nizes  herself  in  her  own  work  and  sees  its  beneficence 
and  beauty.  His  constant  refrain  is  the  omnipotence 
of  imaginative  thought;  its  power  first  to  make  the 
world,  then  to  understand  it,  and  finally  to  rise  above 
it.  All  Nature  is  an  embodiment  of  our  native  fancy,  5 
all  history  a  drama  in  which  the  innate  possibilities 
of  the  spirit  are  enacted  and  realized.  While  the  con- 
flict of  life  and  the  shocks  of  experience  seem  to  bring 
us  face  to  face  with  an  alien  and  overwhelming  power, 
reflection  can  humanize  and  rationalize  that  power  10 
by  conceiving  its  laws;  and  with  this  recognition  of 
the  rationality  of  all  things  comes  the  sense  of  their 
beauty  and  order.  The  destruction  which  Nature 
seems  to  prepare  for  our  special  hopes  is  thus  seen 
to  be  the  victory  of  our  impersonal  interests.  To  15 
awaken  in  us  this  spiritual  insight,  an  elevation  of 
mind  which  is  at  once  an  act  of  comprehension  and 
of  worship,  to  substitute  it  for  lower  passions  and 
more  servile  forms  of  intelligence  —  that  is  Emer- 
son's constant  effort.  All  his  resources  of  illustra-  20 
tion,  observation,  and  rhetoric  are  used  to  deepen 
and  clarify  this  sort  of  wisdom. 

Such  thought  is  essentially  the  same  that  is  found 
in  the  German  romantic  or  idealistic  philosophers, 
with  whom  Emerson's  affinity  is  remarkable,  all  the  25 
more  as  he  seems  to  have  borrowed  little  or  nothing 
from  their  works.  The  critics  of  human  nature,  in 
the  eighteenth  century,  had  shown  how  much  men's 
ideas  depend  on  their  predispositions,  on  the  charac- 


Emerson  139 

ter  of  their  senses  and  the  habits  of  their  intelligence. 
Seizing  upon  this  thought  and  exaggerating  it,  the  ro- 
mantic philosophers  attributed  to  the  spirit  of  man  the 
omnipotence  which  had  belonged  to  God,  and  felt 
that  in  this  way  they  were  reasserting  the  supremacy  5 
of  mind  over  matter  and  establishing  it  upon  a  safe 
and  rational  basis. 

The  Germans  were  great  system-makers,  and  Emer- 
son cannot  rival  them  in  the  sustained  effort  of  thought 
by  which  they  sought  to  reinterpret  every  sphere  of  be-  10 
ing  according  to  their  chosen  principles.  But  he  sur- 
passed them  in  an  instinctive  sense  of  what  he  was 
doing.  He  never  represented  his  poetry  as  science, 
nor  countenanced  the  formation  of  a  new  sect  that 
should  nurse  the  sense  of  a  private  and  mysterious  illu-  15 
mination,  and  relight  the  fagots  of  passion  and  preju- 
dice. He  never  tried  to  seek  out  and  defend  the  uni- 
versal implications  of  his  ideas,  and  never  wrote  the 
book  he  had  once  planned  on  the  law  of  compensa- 
tion, foreseeing,  we  may  well  believe,  the  sophistries  20 
in  which  he  would  have  been  directly  involved.  He 
fortunately  preferred  a  fresh  statement  on  a  fresh 
subject.  A  suggestion  once  given,  the  spirit  once 
aroused  to  speculation,  a  glimpse  once  gained  of 
some  ideal  harmony,  he  chose  to  descend  again  to  25 
common  sense  and  to  touch  the  earth  for  a  moment 
before  another  flight.  The  faculty  of  idealization  was 
itself  what  he  valued.  Philosophy  for  him  was  rather 
a  moral  energy  flowering  into  sprightliness  of  thought 


140  Exposition 

than  a  body  of  serious  and  defensible  doctrines.  In 
practicing  transcendental  speculation  only  in  this 
poetic  and  sporadic  fashion,  Emerson  retained  its  true 
value  and  avoided  its  greatest  danger.  He  secured 
the  freedom  and  fertility  of  his  thought  and  did  not  5 
allow  one  conception  of  law  or  one  hint  of  harmony 
to  sterilize  the  mind  and  prevent  the  subsequent  birth 
within  it  of  other  ideas,  no  less  just  and  imposing  than 
their  predecessors.  For  we  are  not  dealing  at  all  in 
such  a  philosophy  with  matters  of  fact  or  with  such  10 
verifiable  truths  as  exclude  their  opposites.  We  are 
dealing  only  with  imagination,  with  the  art  of  con- 
ception, and  with  the  various  forms  in  which  reflec- 
tion, like  a  poet,  may  compose  and  recompose  human 
experience.  15 

A  certain  disquiet  mingled,  however,  in  the  minds 
of  Emerson's  contemporaries  with  the  admiration 
they  felt  for  his  purity  and  genius.  They  saw  that  he 
had  forsaken  the  doctrines  of  the  Church;  and  they 
were  not  sure  whether  he  held  quite  unequivocally  20 
any  doctrine  whatever.  We  may  not  all  of  us  share 
the  concern  for  orthodoxy  which  usually  caused  this 
puzzled  alarm:  we  may  understand  that  it  was  not 
Emerson's  vocation  to  be  definite  and  dogmatic  in 
religion  any  more  than  in  philosophy.  Yet  that  dis-  25 
quiet  will  not,  even  for  us,  wholly  disappear.  It  is 
produced  by  a  defect  which  naturally  accompanies 
imagination  in  all  but  the  greatest  minds.  I  mean 
disorganization.  Emerson  not  only  conceived  things 


Emerson  141 

in  new  ways,  but  he  seemed  to  think  the  new  ways 
might  cancel  and  supersede  the  old.  His  imagination 
was  to  invalidate  the  understanding.  That  inspira- 
tion which  should  come  to  fulfil  seemed  too  often 
to  come  to  destroy.  If  he  was  able  so  constantly  to  5 
stimulate  us  to  fresh  thoughts,,, was  it  not  because 
he  demolished  the  labor  of  long  ages  of  reflection? 
Was  not  the  startling  effect  of  much  of  his  writing 
due  to  its  contradiction  to  tradition  and  to  common 
sense  ?  10 

So  long  as  he  is  a  poet  and  in  the  enjoyment  of 
his  poetic  license,  we  can  blame  this  play  of  mind 
only  by  a  misunderstanding.  It  is  possible  to  think 
otherwise  than  as  common  sense  thinks;  there  are 
other  categories  besides  those  of  science.  When  we  15 
employ  them  we  enlarge  our  lives.  We  add  to  the 
world  of  fact  any  number  of  worlds  of  the  imagina- 
tion in  which  human  nature  and  the  eternal  relations 
of  ideas  may  be  nobly  expressed.  So  far  our  imagina- 
tive fertility  is  only  a  benefit:  it  surrounds  us  with  20 
the  congenial  and  necessary  radiation  of  art  and  reli- 
gion. It  manifests  our  moral  vitality  in  the  bosom  of 
Nature. 

But  sometimes  imagination  invades  the  sphere  of 
understanding  and  seems  to  discredit  its  indispensable  25 
work.  Common  sense,  we  are  allowed  to  infer,  is  a 
shallow  affair:  true  insight  changes  all  that.  When 
so  applied,  poetic  activity  is  not  an  unmixed  good. 
It  loosens  our  hold  on  fact  and  confuses  our  intelli- 


142  Exposition 

gence,  so  that  we  forget  that  intelligence  has  itself 
every  prerogative  of  imagination,  and  has  besides  the 
sanction  of  practical  validity.  We  are  made  to  believe 
that  since  the  understanding  is  something  human  and 
conditioned,  something  which  might  have  been  differ-  5 
ent,  as  the  senses  might  have  been  different,  and 
which  we  may  yet,  so  to  speak,  get  behind  —  there- 
fore the  understanding  ought  to  be  abandoned.  We 
long  for  higher  faculties,  neglecting  those  we  have,  we 
yearn  for  intuition,  closing  our  eyes  upon  experience.  10 
We  become  mystical. 

Mysticism,  as  we  have  said,  is  the  surrender  of  a 
category  of  thought  because  we  divine  its  relativity. 
As  every  new  category,  however,  must  share  this  re- 
proach, the  mystic  is  obliged  in  the  end  to  give  them  15 
all  up,  the  poetic  and  moral  categories  no  less  than 
the  physical,  so  that  the  end  of  his  purification  is  the 
atrophy  of  his  whole  nature,  the  emptying  of  his  whole 
heart  and  mind  to  make  room,  as  he  thinks,  for  God. 
By  attacking  the  authority  of  the  understanding  as  the  20 
organon  of  knowledge,  by  substituting  itself  for  it  as 
the  herald  of  a  deeper  truth,  the  imagination  thus  pre- 
pares its  own  destruction.  For  if  the  understanding 
is  rejected  because  it  cannot  grasp  the  absolute,  the 
imagination  and  all  its  works  —  art,  dogma,  worship  25 
—  must  presently  be  rejected  for  the  same  reason. 
Common  sense  and  poetry  must  both  go  by  the  board, 
and  conscience  must  follow  after:  for  all  these  are 
human  and  relative.  Mysticism  will  be  satisfied  only 


Emerson  143 

with  the  absolute,  and  as  the  absolute,  by  its  very 
definition,  is  not  representable  by  any  specific  faculty, 
it  must  be  approached  through  the  abandonment  of  all. 
The  lights  of  life  must  be  extinguished  that  the  light  of 
the  absolute  may  shine,  and  the  possession  of  every-  5 
thing  in  general  must  be  secured  by  the  surrender  of 
everything  in  particular. 

The  same  diffidence,  however,  the  same  constant 
renewal  of  sincerity  which  kept  Emerson's  flights  of 
imagination  near  to  experience,  kept  his  mysticism  10 
also  within  bounds.  A  certain  mystical  tendency 
is  pervasive  with  him,  but  there  are  only  one  or  two 
subjects  on  which  he  dwells  with  enough  constancy 
and  energy  of  attention  to  make  his  mystical  treat- 
ment of  them  pronounced.  One  of  these  is  the  ques-  15 
tion  of  the  unity  of  all  minds  in  the  single  soul  of  the 
universe,  which  is  the  same  in  all  creatures;  another 
is  the  question  of  evil  and  of  its  evaporation  in  the 
universal  harmony  of  things.  Both  these  ideas  suggest 
themselves  at  certain  turns  in  every  man's  experience,  20 
and  might  receive  a  rational  formulation.  But  they  are 
intricate  subjects,  obscured  by  many  emotional  preju- 
dices, so  that  the  labor,  impartiality,  and  precision 
which  would  be  needed  to  elucidate  them  are  to  be 
looked  for  in  scholastic  rather  than  in  inspired  thinkers,  25 
and  in  Emerson  least  of  all.  Before  these  problems 
he  is  alternately  ingenuous  and  rhapsodical,  and  in 
both  moods  equally  helpless.  Individuals  no  doubt 
exist,  he  says  to  himself.  But,  ah!  Napoleon  is  in 


144  Exposition 

every  schoolboy.    In  every  squatter  in  the  Western 
prairies  we  shall  find  an  owner  — 

Of  Caesar's  hand  and  Plato's  brain, 

Of  Lord  Christ's  heart,  and  Shakespeare's  strain. 

But  how?    we  may  ask.     Potentially?    Is  it  because    5 
any  mind,  were  it  given  the  right  body  and  the  right 
experience,  were  it  made  over,  in  a  word,  into  another 
mind,  would  resemble  that  other  mind  to  the  point  of 
identity  ?     Or  is  it  that  our  souls  are  already  so  largely 
similar  that  we  are  subject  to  many  kindred  prompt-  10 
ings  and  share  many  ideals  unrealizable  in  our  par- 
ticular circumstances?    But  then  we  should  simply  be 
saying  that  if  what  makes  men  different  were  removed, 
men  would  be  indistinguishable,  or  that,  in  so  far  as  they 
are  now  alike,  they  can  understand  one  another  by  sum-  15 
moning  up  their  respective  experiences  in  the  fancy. 
There  would  be  no  mysticism  in  that,  but  at  the  same 
time,  alas,  no  eloquence,  no  paradox,  and,  if  we  must 
say  the  word,  no  nonsense. 

On  the  question  of  evil,  Emerson's  position  is  of  20 
the  same  kind.     There  is  evil,  of  course,  he  tells  us. 
Experience  is  sad.     There  is  a  crack  in  everything 
that    God   has    made.     But,   ah!    the   kws   of    the 
universe  are   sacred    and   beneficent.     Without  them 
nothing  good  could   arise.     All   things,   then,   are  in  25 
their  right  places  and  the  universe  is  perfect  above 
our   querulous   tears.     Perfect?     we    may    ask.     But 
perfect  from  what  point  of  view,  in  reference  to  what 
ideal  ?    To  its  own  ?    To  that  of  a  man  who  renounc- 


Emerson  145 

ing  himself  and  all  naturally  dear  to  him,  ignoring 
the  injustice,  suffering!  and  impotence  in  the  world, 
allows  his  will  and  his  conscience  to  be  hypnotized 
by  the  spectacle  of  a  necessary  evolution,  and  lulled 
into  cruelty  by  the  pomp  and  music  of  a  tragic  show?  5 
In  that  case  the  evil  is  not  explained,  it  is  forgotten; 
it* is  not  cured,  but  condoned.  We  have  surrendered 
the  category  of  the  better  and  the  worse,  the  deepest 
foundation  of  life  and  reason ;  we  have  become  mystics 
on  the  one  subject  on  which,  above  all  others,  we  ought  10 
to  be  men. 

Two  forces  may  be  said  to  have  carried  Emerson  in 
this  mystical  direction;  one,  that  freedom  of  his  im- 
agination which  we  have  already  noted,  and  which  kept 
him  from  the  fear  of  self-contradiction ;  the  other  the  15 
habit  of  worship  inherited  from  his  clerical  ancestors  and 
enforced  by  his  religious  education.  The  spirit  of  con- 
formity, the  unction,  the  loyalty  even  unto  death  inspired 
by  the  religion  of  Jehovah,  were  dispositions  acquired 
by  too  long  a  discipline  and  rooted  in  too  many  forms  of  20 
speech,  of  thought,  and  of  worship  for  a  man  like  Emer- 
son, who  had  felt  their  full  force,  ever  to  be  able  to  lose 
them.  The  evolutions  of  his  abstract  opinions  left  that 
habit  unchanged.  Unless  we  keep  this  circumstance  in 
mind,  we  shall  not  be  able  to  understand  the  kind  of  25 
elation  and  sacred  joy,  so  characteristic  of  his  eloquence, 
with  which  he  propounds  laws  of  Nature  and  aspects  of 
experience  which,  viewed  in  themselves,  afford  but  an 
equivocal  support  to  moral  enthusiasm.  An  optimism 


146  Exposition 

so  persistent  and  unclouded  as  his  will  seem  at  variance 
with  the  description  he  himself  *  gives  of  human  life,  a 
description  colored  by  a  poetic  idealism,  but  hardly  by 
an  optimistic  bias. 

We  must  remember,  therefore,  that  this  optimism  is    5 
a  pious  tradition,  originally  justified  by  the  belief  in  a 
personal  God  and  in  a  providential  government  of  affairs 
for  the  ultimate  and  positive  good  of  the  elect,  and  that 
the  habit  of  worship  survived  in  Emerson  as  an  instinct 
after  those  positive  beliefs  had  faded  into  a  recognition  10 
of  "spiritual  laws."    We  must  remember  that  Calvin- 
ism had  known  how  to  combine  an  awestruck  devotion 
to  the  Supreme  Being  with  no  very  roseate  picture  of 
the  destinies  of  mankind,  and  for  more  than  two  hun- 
dred years  had  been  breeding  in  the  stock  from  which  15 
Emerson  came  a  willingness  to  be,  as  the  phrase  is, 
"damned  for  the  glory  of  God." 

What  wonder,  then,  that  when,  for  the  former  in- 
exorable dispensation  of  Providence,  Emerson  sub- 
stituted his  general  spiritual  and  natural  laws,  he  should  20 
not  have  felt  the  spirit  of  worship  fail  within  him  ?  On 
the  contrary,  his  thought  moved  in  the  presence  of  moral 
harmonies  which  seemed  to  him  truer,  more  beautiful, 
and  more  beneficent  than  those  of  the  old  theology.  An 
independent  philosopher  would  not  have  seen  in  those  25 
harmonies  an  object  of  worship  or  a  sufficient  basis  for 
optimism.  But  he  was  not  an  independent  philosopher, 
in  spite  of  his  belief  in  independence.  _.  He  inherited  the 
problems  and  the  preoccupations  of  the  theology  from 


Emerson  147 

which  he  started,  being  in  this  respect  like  the  German 
idealists,  who,  with  all  their  pretense  of  absolute  meta- 
physics, were  in  reality  only  giving  elusive  and  abstract 
forms  to  traditional  theology.  Emerson,  too,  was  not 
primarily  a  philosopher,  but  a  Puritan  mystic  with  a  5 
poetic  fancy  and  a  gift  for  observation  and  epigram,  and 
ha  saw  in  the  laws  of  Nature,  idealized  by  his  imagina- 
tion, only  a  more  intelligible  form  of  the  divinity  he  had 
always  recognized  and  adored.  His  was  not  a  philoso- 
phy passing  into  a  religion,  but  a  religion  expressing  10 
itself  as  a  philosophy  and  veiled,  as  at  its  setting  it  de- 
scended the  heavens,  in  various  tints  of  poetry  and 
science. 

If  we  ask  ourselves  what  was  Emerson's  relation  to 
the  scientific  and  religious  movements  of  his  time,  and  15 
what  place  he  may  claim  in  the  history  of  opinion,  we 
must  answer  that  he  belonged  very  little  to  the  past,  very 
little  to  the  present,  and  almost  wholly  to  that  abstract 
sphere  into  which  mystical  or  philosophic  aspiration  has 
carried  a  few  men  in  all  ages.  The  religious  tradition  20 
in  which  he  was  reared  was  that  of  Puritanism,  but  of  a 
Puritanism  which,  retaining  its  moral  intensity  and 
metaphysical  abstraction,  had  minimized  its  doctrinal 
expression  and  become  Unitarian.  Emerson  was  in- 
deed the  Psyche  of  Puritanism,  "the  latest-born  and  25 
fairest  vision  far"  of  all  that  "faded  hierarchy."  A 
Puritan  whose  religion  was  all  poetry,  a  poet  whose  only 
pleasure  was  thought,  he  showed  in  his  life  and  person- 
ality the  meagreness,  the  constraint,  the  frigid  and  con- 


148  Exposition 

scious  consecration  which  belonged  to  his  clerical  ances- 
tors, while  his  inmost  impersonal  spirit  ranged  abroad 
over  the  fields  of  history  and  Nature,  gathering  what 
ideas  it  might,  and  singing  its  little  snatches  of  inspired 
song.  5 

The  traditional  element  was  thus  rather  an  external 
and  unessential  contribution  to  Emerson's  mind ;  he  had 
the  professional  tinge,  the  decorum,  the  distinction  of  an 
old-fashioned  divine;  he  had  also  the  habit  of  writing 
sermons,  and  he  had  the  national  pride  and  hope  of  a  10 
religious  people  that  felt  itself  providentially  chosen  to 
establish  a  free  and  godly  commonwealth  in  a  new  world. 
For  the  rest,  he  separated  himself  from  the  ancient  creed 
of  the  community  with  a  sense  rather  of  relief  than  of 
regret.  A  literal  belief  in  Christian  doctrines  repelled  15 
him  as  unspiritual,  as  manifesting  no  understanding  of 
the  meaning  which,  as  allegories,  those  doctrines  might 
have  to  a  philosophic  and  poetical  spirit.  Although  as 
a  clergyman  he  was  at  first  in  the  habit  of  referring  to 
the  Bible  and  its  lessons  as  to  a  supreme  authority,  he  20 
had  no  instinctive  sympathy  with  the  inspiration  of 
either  the  Old  or  the  New  Testament;  in  Hafiz  or 
Plutarch,  in  Plato  or  Shakespeare,  he  found  more  con- 
genial stuff. 

While  he  thus  preferred  to  withdraw,  without  rancor  25 
and  without  contempt,  from  the  ancient  fellowship  of 
the  church,  he  assumed  an  attitude  hardly  less  cool 
and  deprecatory  toward  the  enthusiasms  of  the  new  era. 
The  national  ideal  of  democracy  and  freedom  had  his 


Emerson  149 

entire  sympathy ;  he  allowed  himself  to  be  drawn  into 
the  movement  against  slavery;  he  took  a  curious  and 
smiling  interest  in  the  discoveries  of  natural  science  and 
in  the  material  progress  of  the  age.  But  he  could  go  no 
farther.  His  contemplative  nature,  his  religious  train-  5 
ing,  his  dispersed  reading,  made  him  stand  aside  from 
the  life  of  the  world,  even  while  he  studied  it  with  benevo- 
lent attention.  His  heart  was  fixed  on  eternal  things 
and  he  was  in  no  sense  a  prophet  for  his  age  or  country. 
He  belonged  by  nature  to  that  mystical  company  of  10 
devout  souls  that  recognize  no  particular  home  and  are 
dispersed  throughout  history,  although  not  without  in- 
tercommunication. He  felt  his  affinity  to  the  Hindoos 
and  the  Persians,  to  the  Platonists  and  the  Stoics.  Like 
them  he  remains  "  a  friend  and  aider  of  those  who  would  15 
live  in  the  spirit. "  If  not  a  star  of  the  first  magnitude, 
he  is  certainly  a  fixed  star  in  the  firmament  of  philoso- 
phy. Alone  as  yet  among  Americans,  he  may  be  said 
to  have  won  a  place  there,  if  not  by  the  originality  of 
his  thought,  at  least  by  the  originality  and  beauty  of  the  20 
expression  he  gave  to  thoughts  that  are  old  and  im- 
perishable. 


PERSUASION 

ON  THE  READING   OF    NEWSPAPERS1 
HENRY  DAVID  THOREAU 

I  DO  not  know  but  it  is  too  much  to  read  one  news- 
paper a  week.  I  have  tried  it  recently,  and  for  so  long 
it  seems  to  me  that  I  have  not  dwelt  in  my  native  region. 
The  sun,  the  clouds,  the  snow,  the  trees,  say  not  so  much 
to  me.  You  cannot  serve  two  masters.  It  requires  5 
more  than  a  day's  devotion  to  know  and  to  possess  the 
wealth  of  a  day. 

We  may  well  be  ashamed  to  tell  what  things  we  have 
read  or  heard  in  our  day.  I  do  not  know  why  my  news 
should  be  so  trivial,  —  considering  what  one's  dreams  10 
and  expectations  are,  why  the  developments  should  be 
so  paltry.  The  news  we  hear,  for  the  most  part,  is 
not  news  to  our  genius.  It  is  the  stalest  repetition. 
You  are  often  tempted  to  ask  why  such  stress  is  laid 
on  a  particular  experience  which  you  have  had,  —  that,  15 
after  twenty-five  years,  you  should  meet  Hobbins,  Regis- 
trar of  Deeds,  again  on  the  sidewalk.  Have  you  not 
budged  an  inch,  then?  Such  is  the  daily  news.  Its 
facts  appear  to  float  in  the  atmosphere,  insignificant  as 

1  Reprinted  by  permission  from  the  "  Miscellanies,"  pp.  274-280. 
Boston,  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co. 


On  the  Reading  of  Newspapers  151 

the  sporules  of  fungi,  and  impinge  on  some  neglected 
thallus,  or  surface  of  our  minds,  which  affords  a  basis 
for  them,  and  hence  a  parasitic  growth.  We  should 
wash  ourselves  clean  of  such  news.  Of  what  conse- 
quence, though  our  planet  explode,  if  there  is  no  charac-  5 
ter  involved  in  the  explosion  ?  In  health  we  have  not 
the  least  curiosity  about  such  events.  We  do  not  live 
for  idle  amusement.  I  would  not  run  round  a  corner 
to  see  the  world  blow  up. 

Not  without  a  slight  shudder  at  the  danger,  -I  often  10 
perceive  how  near  I  had  come  to  admitting  into  my  mind 
the  details  of  some  trivial  affair,  —  the  news  of  the  street, 
and  I  am  astonished  to  observe  how  willing  men  are 
to  lumber  their  minds  with  such  rubbish,  —  to  permit 
idle  rumors  and  incidents  of  the  most  insignificant  kind  15 
to  intrude  on  ground  which  should  be  sacred  to  thought. 
Shall  the  mind  be  a  public  arena,  where  the  affairs  of  the 
street  and  the  gossip  of  the  tea  table  chiefly  are  dis- 
cussed ?     Or  shall  it  be  a  quarter  of  heaven  itself,  —  an 
hypaethral  temple,  consecrated  to  the  service  of  the  20 
gods  ?     I  find  it  so  difficult  to  dispose  of  the  few  facts 
which  to  me  are  significant,  that  I  hesitate  to  burden 
my  attention  with  those  which  are  insignificant,  which 
only  a  divine  mind  could  illustrate.     Such  is  for  the  most 
part  the  news  in  newspapers  and  conversation.     It  is  25 
important  to  preserve  the  mind's  chastity  in  this  respect. 
Think  of  admitting  the  details  of  a  single  case  of  the 
criminal  court   into  our  thoughts,  to  stalk  profanely 
through  their  very  sanctum  sanctorum  for  an  hour,  ay,  for 


152  Persuasion 

many  hours !  to  make  a  very  bar-room  of  the  mind's  in- 
most apartment,  as  if  for  so  long  the  dust  of  the  street 
had  occupied  us,  —  the  very  street  itself,  with  all  its  travel, 
its  bustle  and  filth,  had  passed  through  our  thoughts' 
shrine!  Would  it  not  be  an  intellectual  and  moral  5 
suicide  ?  When  I  have  been  compelled  to  sit  spectator 
and  auditor  in  a  court  room  for  some  hours,  and  have 
seen  my  neighbors,  who  were  not  compelled,  stealing  in 
from  time  to  time,  and  tiptoeing  about  with  washed 
hands  and  faces,  it  has  appeared  to  my  mind's  eye  that,  10 
when  they  took  off  their  hats,  their  ears  suddenly  ex- 
panded into  vast  hoppers  for  sound,  between  which  even 
their  narrow  heads  were  crowded.  Like  the  vanes  of 
windmills,  they  caught  the  broad  but  shallow  stream  of 
sound,  which,  after  a  few  titillating  gyrations  in  their  15 
coggy  brains,  passed  out  the  other  side.  I  wondered 
if,  when  they  got  home,  they  were  as  careful  to  wash 
their  ears  as  before  their  hands  and  faces.  It  has 
seemed  to  me  at  such  a  time  that  the  auditors  and  the 
witnesses,  the  jury  and  the  counsel,  the  judge  and  the  20 
criminal  at  the  bar,  —  if  I  may  presume  him  guilty  be- 
fore he  is  convicted,  —  were  all  equally  criminal,  and  a 
thunderbolt  might  be  expected  to  descend  and  consume 
them  all  together. 

By  all  kinds  of  traps  and  signboards,  threatening  25 
the  extreme  penalty  of  the  divine  law,  exclude  such 
trespassers  from  the  only  ground  which  can  be  sacred 
to  you.     It  is  so  hard  to  forget  what  it  is  worse  than  use- 
less to  remember !    If  I  am  to  be  a  thoroughfare,  I  pre- 


On  the  Reading  of  Newspapers  153 

fer  that  it  be  of  the  mountain  brooks,  the  Parnassian 
streams,  and  not  the  town  sewers.  There  is  inspira- 
tion, that  gossip  which  comes  to  the  ear  of  the  attentive 
mind  from  the  courts  of  heaven.  There  is  the  profane 
and  stale  revelation  of  the  barroom  and  the  police  court.  5 
,The  same  ear  is  fitted  to  receive  both  communications. 
Only  the  character  of  the  hearer  determines  to  which 
it  shall  be  open,  and  to  which  closed.  I  believe  that 
the  mind  can  be  permanently  profaned  by  the  habit  of 
attending  to  trivial  things,  so  that  all  our  thoughts  shall  10 
be  tinged  with  triviality.  Our  very  intellect  shall  be 
macadamized,  as  it  were,  —  its  foundation  broken  into 
fragments  for  the  wheels  of  travel  to  roll  over ;  and  if 
you  would  know  what  will  make  the  most  durable 
pavement,  surpassing  rolled  stones,  spruce  blocks,  and  15 
asphaltum,  you  have  only  to  look  into  some  of  our  minds 
which  have  been  subjected  to  this  treatment  so  long. 

If  we  have  thus  desecrated  ourselves,  —  as  who  has 
not? — the  remedy  will  be  by  wariness  and  devotion  to 
reconsecrate  ourselves,  and  make  once  more  a  fane  of  20 
the  mind.  We  should  treat  our  minds,  that  is,  our- 
selves, as  innocent  and  ingenuous  children,  whose  guar- 
dians we  are,  and  be  careful  what  objects  and  what 
subjects  we  thrust  on  their  attention.  Read  not  the 
Times.  Read  the  Eternities.  Conventionalities  are  at  25 
length  as  bad  as  impurities.  Even  the  facts  of  sci- 
ence may  dust  the  mind  by  their  dryness,  unless  they 
are  in  a  sense  effaced  each  morning,  or  rather  rendered 
fertile  by  the  dews  of  fresh  and  living  truth.  Knowledge 


154  Persuasion 

does  not  come  to  us  by  details,  but  in  flashes  of  light 
from  heaven.  Yes,  every  thought  that  passes  through 
the  mind  helps  to  wear  and  tear  it,  and  to  deepen  the 
ruts,  which,  as  in  the  streets  of  Pompeii,  evince  how 
much  it  has  been  used.  How  many  things  there  are  5 
concerning  which  we  might  well  deliberate  whether 
we  had  better  know  them,  —  had  better  let  their  ped- 
dling carts  be  driven,  even  at  the  slowest  trot  or  walk, 
over  that  bridge  of  glorious  span  by  which  we  trust  to 
pass  at  last  from  the  farthest  brink  of  time  to  the  near-  10 
est  shore  of  eternity !  Have  we  no  culture,  no  refine- 
ment, —  but  skill  only  to  live  coarsely  and  serve  the 
Devil  ?  —  to  acquire  a  little  worldly  wealth,  or  fame,  or 
liberty,  and  make  a  false  show  with  it,  as  if  we  were  all 
husk  and  shell,  with  no  tender  and  living  kernel  to  us  ?  15 
Shall  our  institutions  be  like  those  chestnut  burs  which 
contain  abortive  nuts,  perfect  only  to  prick  the  ringers  ? 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  DEVOTION * 
ARTHUR  TWINING  HADLEY 

And  David  longed,  and  said,  Oh  that  one  would  give  me  to 
drink  of  the  water  of  the  well  of  Bethlehem,  which  is  by  the  gate ! 

And  the  three  mighty  men  brake  through  the  host  of  the  Philis- 
tines and  drew  water  out  of  the  well  of  Bethlehem,  that  was  by 
the  gate,  and  brought  it  to  David:  nevertheless  he  would  not 
drink  thereof,  but  poured  it  out  unto  the  Lord. 

And  he  said,  Be  it  far  from  me,  O  Lord,  that  I  should  do  this : 
is  not  this  the  blood  of  men  that  went  in  jeopardy  of  their  lives  ? 
Therefore  he  would  not  drink  it. 

JUDGED  by  material  standards,  this  is  a  tale  of  folly 
from  beginning  to  end.  It  was  foolish  for  David  to 
utter  his  wish;  it  was  doubly  foolish  for  his  captains 
to  risk  their  lives  to  compass  it ;  it  was  trebly  foolish  for 
him  to  waste  the  gift  which  had  been  won  at  so  much  5 
risk. 

I  do  not  mean  that  all  who  read  the  story  would 
criticise  it  in  this  way.  In  an  episode  like  this,  we 
instinctively  feel  that  there  is  something  which  makes 
such  criticism  inadequate  and  impertinent.  But  when  10 
we  are  dealing,  not  with  some  exceptional  matter  of 
ancient  history,  but  with  this  everyday  world  of  the 
twentieth  century,  and  are  valuing  little  deeds  of  heroism 

1  Reprinted  by  permission  from  "  Baccalaureate  Addresses." 
Copyright,  1907,  by  Arthur  Twining  Hadley.  Published  by  Charles 
Scribner's  Sons. 


156  Persuasion 

instead  of  great  ones,  we  are  prone  to  use  material  stand- 
ards, and  call  them  by  the  specious  name  of  common  sense. 
We  are  apt  to  judge  work  by  its  definite  and  measurable 
results ;  to  make  these  results  the  motive  of  service  and 
the  criterion  of  success ;  and  to  condemn  as  misplaced  5 
sentiment  anything  which  sacrifices  or  risks  a  tangible 
chance  of  physical  comfort  and  security  for  an  intangible 
manifestation  of  loyalty  or  devotion.  Amid  much  that 
is  good  in  our  twentieth-century  spirit,  this  overvalua- 
tion of  material  enjoyment  and  of  tangible  success  con-  10 
stitutes  a  grave  danger.  All  the  achievements  of  mod- 
ern science  and  of  modern  democracy  will  be  worth 
little  if,  in  the  long  run,  they  teach  people  to  regard 
knowledge  for  the  sake  of  the  return  which  it  will  bring, 
and  to  measure  success  in  life  by  the  concrete  results  15 
with  which  men  can  credit  themselves. 

I  am  not  going  to  make  this  material  view  of  life  the 
subject  of  argument  or  criticism.  I  am  going  to  call 
your  attention  to  the  fact  that  we  do  not  really  hold  it ; 
and  that  when  we  allow  ourselves  to  be  carried  on  with  20 
the  current  of  popular  judgment  so  as  to  pretend  that 
we  hold  it,  we  are  letting  the  best  side  of  our  own  nature 
be  suppressed,  and  our  best  possibilities  of  personal 
growth  and  public  service  be  stunted  and  withered. 

I  do  not  believe  that  there  is  a  single  man  in  this  25 
audience  who  values  life  primarily  as  a  means  of  secur- 
ing comfort.     We  value  it  as  a  field  of  action.     We  care 
for  the  doing  of  things.     Signal  achievement  in  itself 
appeals  to  our  imagination  and  interest.     We  admire 


The  Spirit  of  Devotion  157 

Nansen  because  he  succeeded  in  getting  so  much 
nearer  the  North  Pole  than  anybody  ever  did  before 
him;  we  do  not  admire  him  in  the  least  for  his  weak 
efforts  to  justify  his  expedition  on  the  basis  of  its 
scientific  results.  A  man  who  tries  to  go  to  the  North  5 
JPole  is  engaged  in  a  glorious  play,  which  justifies  more 
risk  and  more  expenditure  of  life  than  would  be  war- 
ranted for  a  few  miserable  entomological  specimens, 
however  remote  from  the  place  where  they  had  been 
previously  found.  It  is  of  far  less  material  use  to  go  to  10 
the  North  Pole  than  to  raise  a  hundred  thousand  bushels 
of  wheat ;  but  every  man  of  you,  if  he  had  the  choice 
between  going  to  the  North  Pole  and  raising  a  hun- 
dred thousand  bushels  of  wheat,  would  take  the  former. 

Turn  back  over  the  pages  of  history  to  the  stories  15 
which  have  most  moved  men's  hearts,  and  what  are 
they?      They  are  stories  of  action,  deeds  of  daring, 
where  the  risk  habitually  outweighed  the  chance  of 
practical  results.     Nay,  the  most  inspiring  of  them  all 
are  often  manifestations   of  hopeless  bravery,  where  20 
the  likelihood  of  success  was  absolutely  nothing.     When 
we  read  of  the  soldiers  of  Gustavus  Adolphus's  regi- 
ment at  Liitzen,  who  after  the  loss  of  their  king  stood 
firm  in  the  ranks  until  the  line  of  dead  was  as  straight 
and  complete  as  had  been  the  line  of  the  living  on  25 
dress   parade;    when  we  hear  of  the  Cumberland  at 
Hampton  Roads,  waging  the  hopeless  fight  of  wood 
against  iron,  and  keeping  the  flag  afloat  at  the  main- 
mast head  when  the  vessel  and  all  who  remained  in  her 


158  Persuasion 

had  sunk ;  when  we  remember  the  tale  of  the  Alamo, 
in  whose  courtyard  and  hospital  a  handful  of  American 
frontiersmen  fought  against  the  army  of  Mexico,  with- 
out hope  of  victory,  but  without  thought  of  retreat  or 
surrender,  till  they  earned  by  the  very  completeness  of  5 
their  annihilation  the  glory  of  that  monumental  in- 
scription: "Thermopylae  had  its  messenger  of  defeat; 
the  Alamo  had  none";  then  do  we  see  how  hollow  is 
our  pretense  of  valuing  things  by  results  when  we  are 
brought  face  to  face  with  the  really  heroic  struggles  of  10 
life.  It  is  the  doing  that  makes  the  deed  worthy  of 
record,  not  the  material  outcome. 

This  is  my  first  point :  that  we  value  life  as  a  field  of 
action.  The  second  point  that  I  want  to  make  is  that 
we  value  those  lives  highest  which  are  marked  by  the  15 
habit  of  unselfish  action.  Doing  makes  the  deed ;  un- 
selfish doing  makes  the  man.  Even  for  those  who  are 
cast  in  heroic  mold,  and  start  with  the  habit  and  the 
power  of  accomplishing  great  things,  there  is  something 
about  selfishness  which  seems  to  deaden  the  power  20 
and  deface  the  model.  Napoleon  had  a  character 
which  gave  the  promise  of  heroism;  but  its  climax  is 
at  the  beginning,  not  at  the  end.  To  the  student  of  the 
heroic  in  history,  he  shines  brightest  in  his  Italian  cam- 
paign. From  Rivoli  to  the  Pyramids,  from  the  Pyra-  25 
mids  to  Austerlitz,  from  Austerlitz  to  Moscow,  and  from 
Moscow  to  Waterloo,  we  find  successive  stages  of  a 
decadence  poorly  concealed  even  when  widening  ma- 
terial prosperity  was  most  splendid.  But  with  a  man 


The  Spirit  of  Devotion  159 

like  Washington  or  Lincoln,  who  worked  for  others  and 
not  for  himself,  you  will  find  in  each  stage  of  his  career  a 
growth  of  mind  and  heart  which  made  his  followers  love 
him  more  and  which  makes  history  yield  him  a  larger 
meed  of  admiration.  The  successes  of  Napoleon  left  him  5 
each  year  smaller.  The  failures  of  Washington  or  Lincoln 
left  them  larger. 

In  the  verdict  of  history  the  question  whether  a  man 
possessed  this  unselfishness  counts  for  more  than  any 
peculiarities  of  his  intellect  or  character,  or  than  any  10 
arguments  as  to  the  rightfulness  of  the  cause  he  advo- 
cated. Never  were  there  two  men  more  utterly  and 
radically  different  in  character,  in  intellect,  and  in  posi- 
tion, than  the  great  Civil  War  leaders,  Grant  and  Lee. 
But  as  we  are  passing  somewhat  from  the  heat  of  pas-  15 
sion  and  narrowness  of  vision  engendered  by  war,  we 
see  that  the  dominant  trait  of  each  of  these  men  was  that 
he  counted  his  cause  for  everything  and  himself  for 
nothing.  It  was  this  trait  which  gave  them  their  great- 
est power  as  commanders  of  their  respective  armies,  20 
and  which  distinguished  them  from  many  other  gen- 
erals, perhaps  equally  able,  in  securing  them  a  common 
tribute  of  personal  respect  from  the  children  of  friend 
and  foe.  Nor  is  it  in  war  alone  that  the  power  of  un- 
selfishness to  make  the  man  comes  conspicuously  to  the  25 
front.  In  every  line  of  life  work,  whether  commercial 
or  political,  professional  or  charitable,  we  see  and  feel 
the  distinction  between  the  man  who  is  looking  out  for 
himself  and  the  man  who  forgets  himself  in  looking  out 


160  Persuasion 

for  others.  We  suspect  the  man  of  the  former  type, 
even  when  he  is  doing  things  which  seem  desirable. 
We  honor  the  man  of  the  latter  type,  even  when  we 
regard  his  methods  as  mistaken  and  his  aims  as  chi- 
merical. 5 

But  really  unselfish  action  in  peace  or  war  does  some- 
thing more  than  make  a  man  himself  great.  It  helps 
others  to  be  like  him.  Where  the  leader  is  tainted  with 
selfishness,  the  followers  will  be  selfish  too.  Where 
the  leader  works  for  other  men,  each  of  those  other  men,  10 
according  to  the  measure  of  his  power,  will  be  stimu- 
lated to  go  outside  of  himself  and  work  for  a  common 
cause.  The  fact  that  Washington  could  bear  his  bur- 
dens so  patiently  in  dealing  with  Congress  and  with 
commissioners,  was  a  powerful  influence  in  helping  the  15 
soldiers  of  his  army  to  bear  their  totally  different  bur- 
dens of  hunger  and  cold  in  the  winter  at  Valley  Forge. 
Unselfish  leadership  gives  an  inspiration  which  people 
sometimes  catch  with  surprising  quickness,  and  habit- 
ually hold  with  yet  more  surprising  tenacity.  There  20 
is  in  the  human  heart  a  capacity  for  hero-worship  which 
is  the  chief  thing  that  makes  political  progress  possible. 
People  will  not  hazard  their  comfort  for  a  new  theory. 
They  are  suspicious  of  philosophic  argument.  But 
once  let  them  see  a  man  who  is  living  for  something  25 
better  than  that  which  they  have  seen  before,  and  they 
will  follow  him  to  the  ends  of  the  earth. 

The  really  great  leader,  we  may  say  with  all  reverence, 
is  the  revelation  of  God  to  his  followers.     If  he,  with 


The  Spirit  of  Devotion  161 

his  wide  vision  and  large  powers,  subordinates  himself 
to  an  unselfish  purpose  —  be  it  the  alleviation  of  the 
sufferings  of  his  fellow-men,  or  the  emancipation  of  a 
downtrodden  race  from  its  conquerors,  or  the  develop- 
ment of  a  new  social  order  —  others  are  ready  to  accept  5 
his  leadership  and  to  regard  his  sayings  and  doings  as 
revelations  of  the  divine  purpose.  When  David  poured 
out  upon  the  rocks  the  water  which  had  been  brought 
through  so  much  peril,  it  was  the  token  that  he  was 
working  for  the  Lord,  and  not  for  himself.  It  was  just  10 
because  his  soldiers'  blood  was  destined  by  him  for 
the  Lord's  service  and  not  for  his  own  that  they  were 
ready  to  shed  that  blood  in  the  fulfillment  of  his  slight- 
est wish.  It  was  his  devotion  which  made  their  devo- 
tion, and  which  enabled  him  and  his  soldiers  together  15 
to  establish  the  glorious  kingdom  of  Judah.  And  when, 
centuries  later,  the  Christ  who  might  have  made  himself 
king  of  the  Jews  and  surrounded  his  disciples  with  all 
the  pleasures  of  kingly  authority,  offered  himself  as  a 
sacrifice  for  his  work,  it  was  the  pouring  out  of  his  blood  20 
which  made  possible  among  those  disciples  that  new 
understanding  of  religion  which  founded  a  kingdom  that 
was  not  of  this  world,  but  was  greater  far  than  anything 
which  the  fishermen  of  Galilee  or  the  populace  of  Jerusa- 
lem had  ever  conceived.  25 

The  revelation  of  God  in  the  life  of  Jesus  Christ 
meant  more  to  the  world  in  teaching  the  possibilities 
of  religion  than  all  the  theology  that  was  ever  written. 
And  in  the  measure  that  our  life  is  like  his,  we  have  the 


1 62  Persuasion 

same  power  to  reveal  God  to  others.  None  of  us  lives 
to  himself.  Every  act  of  self-subordination,  however 
small;  every  sacrifice  of  convenience  and  interest  to 
the  comfort  of  those  about  us;  every  renunciation  of 
personal  ambition  in  order  to  promote  ideals  which  5 
shall  remain  when  we  have  passed  away  —  is,  in  ways 
often  unseen,  a  lesson  and  a  help  to  others  to  go  and  do 
likewise.  Not  in  large  things  only,  but  in  small  things, 
is  it  true  that  the  blood  of  the  martyrs  is  the  seed  of  the 
church.  We  are  sometimes  tempted  to  wonder,  in  the  10 
midst  of  the  fatigues  and  perplexities  of  trying  to  do  right, 
what  all  this  struggle  may  be  worth.  No  man  is  free 
from  these  moments  of  doubt  and  weariness.  Jesus 
himself  in  the  garden  of  Gethsemane  prayed  that  the 
cup  might  pass  from  him.  But  if  through  trial  and  15 
weakness  a-  man  preserves  his  steadiness  of  purpose, 
content  to  leave  to  others  the  selfish  gains  and  visible 
results  of  achievement,  he  will  oftentimes  find  —  per- 
haps as  a  ray  of  light  at  the  moment,  or  perhaps  not  till 
years  afterward  —  that  some  one  who  saw  his  perplexi-  20 
ties  and  discouragements  has  been  thereby  led  to  a  new 
conception  of  duty  and  a  new  ideal  of  life  which  he  never 
could  have  learned  by  seeing  him  in  prosperity.  It  is 
harder  to  keep  a  straight  course  in  the  nighttime  than  in 
the  daytime,  and  it  shows  less ;  but  it  means  more.  25 

Gentlemen  of  the  graduating  class :  You  are  ambitious, 
and  justly  ambitious,  to  be  leaders  of  men.  There  are 
two  ways  in  which  you  can  prove  your  right  to  exercise 
that  leadership :  by  good  judgment,  or  by  heroism. 


The  Spirit  of  Devotion  163 

The  opportunities  for  the  exercise  of  judgment  are 
obvious  to  every  man.  The  development  of  civil  liberty 
and  industrial  organization  has  made  them  larger  than 
they  ever  were  before.  It  is  a  good  thing  that  it  should 
be  so.  It  is  a  good  thing  that  men  should  be  free  to  5 
seek  happiness  in  their  own  way;  and  that  you,  if  you 
can  calculate  more  accurately  where  their  political  and 
industrial  advantage  lies,  should  be  allowed  to  guide 
them.  Just  as  long  as  your  calculations  are  right,  you 
may  be  certain  that  every  selfish  man  will  follow  you  10 
with  the  same  fidelity  with  which  the  gambler  stakes 
his  money  on  the  success  of  him  whom  he  believes  to  be 
the  shrewdest  card  player.  Success  and  fidelity  of  this 
kind  are  so  conspicuous  and  so  widely  heralded  that 
some  people  seem  to  think  there  is  no  other  success  or  15 
fidelity  worth  considering. 

But  they  are  wrong.  The  world  is  more  than  a  game 
of  cards.  History  is  more  than  a  record  of  gambling 
operations.  Fidelity  is  more  than  selfish  belief  in  the 
accuracy  of  another  man's  predictions.  To  a  commu-  20 
nity  which  has  no  higher  ideals  than  these,  destruction 
is  approaching  rapidly.  If  it  were  true,  as  some  meta- 
physicians tell  us,  that  all  action  is  necessarily  selfish, 
the  only  difference  being  that  some  people  admit  their 
selfishness,  others  try  to  conceal  it  from  the  rest  of  the  25 
world,  and  a  few  go  so  far  as  to  conceal  it  from  them- 
selves —  the  whole  social  order  would  centuries  ago  have 
gone  to  pieces.  If  it  were  true,  as  a  large  section  of 
the  community  seems  to  believe,  that  a  man's  success  is 


164  Persuasion 

measured  by  the  money  and  the  offices  which  he  can 
command,  or  that  the  test  of  a  good  education  is  to  be 
found  in  the  fact  that  it  fits  a  man  to  make  money  and 
to  get  offices,  the  American  republic  would  be  fast  ap- 
proaching its  end.  5 

In  the  face  of  conditions  like  these,  we  need  to  insist 
more  than  ever  before  on  the  possibility  —  nay,  on  the 
absolute  duty  —  of  that  devotion  to  ideals  which  under- 
lies social  order  and  social  progress.  You  will  have 
failed  to  learn  the  best  lesson  of  your  college  life  unless  10 
you  have  caught  that  spirit  which  teaches  you  to  value 
money  and  offices  and  other  symbols  of  success  for  the 
sake  of  the  possibilities  of  service  which  they  repre- 
sent, and  to  despise  the  man  who  thinks  of  the  money 
or  offices  rather  than  of  the  use  he  can  make  of  them.  15 
It  is  this  way  of  estimating  success  which  makes  a  man 
a  gentleman  in  his  dealings  with  others,  which  makes 
him  a  patriot  when  his  country  calls  for  his  services, 
which  makes  him  a  Christian  in  his  conception  of  life 
and  his  ideals  of  daily  living.  These  are  the  things  20 
which  count  in  the  long  run.  If  you  value  the  world 
simply  for  what  you  can  get  out  of  it,  be  assured  that 
the  world  will  in  turn  estimate  your  value  to  it  by  what 
it  can  get  out  of  you.  A  man  who  sets  his  ambition  in 
such  a  narrow  frame  may  have  followers  in  prosperity,  25 
but  not  in  adversity.  He  can  secure  plenty  of  syco- 
phants, but  no  friends.  That  man,  on  the  other  hand, 
who  values  the  world  for  what  he  can  put  into  it ;  who 
deals  courteously  with  his  associates,  patriotically  with 


The  Spirit  of  Devotion  165 

his  country,  and  who,  under  whatsoever  creed  or  form, 
has  that  spirit  of  devotion  to  an  ideal  which  is  the  es- 
sential thing  in  religion  —  that  man  makes  himself  part 
of  a  world  which  is  bound  together  by  higher  motives 
than  the  hope  of  material  success.  If  you  pursue  truth,  5 
people  will  be  true  to  you,  and  you  will  help  to  make 
them  truer  to  all  their  ideals.  If  you  love  others,  others 
will  love  you,  and  you  will  help  to  teach  them  a  wider 
charity  in  all  their  dealings  with  the  world.  If  you  take 
the  honors  and  emoluments  of  your  leadership,  not  as  a  10 
privilege  of  your  own,  but  as  a  trust  to  be  consecrated 
to  the  Lord,  even  as  David  poured  out  upon  the  rocks 
the  water  that  represented  the  lifeblood  of  his  followers, 
then  may  you  be  sure  that  each  man  who  was  devoted 
before  will  be  doubly  devoted  thereafter,  and  will  find,  15 
brought  home  to  his  heart,  the  true  meaning  of  success 
in  life,  as  no  material  prosperity  or  intellectual  argu- 
ment could  bring  it.  "The  Jews  require  a  sign,  and 
the  Greeks  seek  after  wisdom:  but  we  preach  Christ 
crucified,  unto  the  Jews  a  stumbling-block,  and  unto  20 
the  Greeks  foolishness ;  but  unto  them  that  are  called, 
both  Jews  and  Greeks,  Christ  the  power  of  God  and  the 
wisdom  of  God."  Such  it  has  proved  itself  for  nearly 
two  thousand  years.  May  it  be  our  privilege  still  to 
preach  this  gospel  of  self-sacrificing  action,  and  still  to  25 
share  in  revealing  the  meaning  of  this  gospel  to  the 
generations  which  are  to  come. 


BRIEF1 

SIDNEY  CURTIS 

Resolved:  That  within  a  year  the  United  States 
should  turn  the  Philippine  Islands  over  to  the  Filipinos 
for  independent  self-government. 

INTRODUCTION 

I.   Last  June  the  Philippine  Independence  Com- 
mission appealed  to  both  political  parties  to    5 
make,  in  the  national  conventions,  a  promise 
of  Independence  to  the  Filipinos. 
II.   The  appeal  thus  made  was  based  upon  a  peti- 
tion signed  by  leaders  in  the  college  world, 
eminent  clergymen,  business  men,  by  judges  10 
and  philanthropists. 

III.  Mr.  Taft  and  other  prominent  men  feel  that 

we  should  hold  to  the  present  policy  of  indefi- 
nite retention  of  the  Islands  until  the  Filipinos 
have  reached  a  condition  in  which  they  can  15 
safely  be  trusted  with  their  own  government. 

IV.  Mr.  Taft  has  stated  that  though  the  traditions 

of  the  American  policy  originally  justified  the 

1  It  should  be  noted  that  this  brief  was  originally  drawn  in  Decem- 
ber, 1904. 

166 


Brief  167 

anticipation  that  the  United  States  would 
refuse  to  govern  the  Islands  as  a  dependency, 
yet  to  withdraw  now  would  be  to  subject  them 
to  a  much  worse  fate  than  to  have  turned 
them  over  to  Spain.  5 

V.   Since  1898,  therefore,  the  discussion  has  been 
as  follows :  — 

A.  One  side  to  this  discussion  has  stood  for 

the  theory  that  we  are  a  superior  people, 
that  the  Filipinos  are  inferior;   that  it  10 
is  our  duty  to    keep    absolute  control 
over  them,   teach  them  our  language, 
our   religion,    our    science,    and   bring 
them  to  our  level,  giving  them,  from 
time  to. time,  such  rights  as  we  think  15 
them  fitted  to  use  wisely. 

B.  The  other  side  has  stood  for  the  freedom 

of  the  Filipinos  on  the  basis  of  their 
record  in  the  war  with  Spain,  on  the 
theory  that  they  have  for  some  time  20 
been  able  to  govern  themselves,  and  on 
the  strength  of  President  McKinley's 
remark  that  "Forcible  annexation,  ac- 
cording to  our  American  code  of  morals, 
would  be  Criminal  Aggression."  25 

VI.  The  question  then  arises,  How  soon  ought  the 
United  States  grant  the  Filipinos  their  inde- 
pendence and  withdraw  from  the  Philippine 
Islands  ? 


1 68  Brief 

VII.   The  affirmative  contends 

A.  That  the  Filipinos  are  a  civilized  people. 

B.  That  in  1898  the  Filipinos  were  capable 

of  satisfactory  self-government. 

C.  That  within  a  year  they  could  get  back    5 

the  conditions  of  their  self-government 
of  1898,  or  could  obtain  a  better  govern- 
ment than  that  of  1898. 
VIII.   The  negative  contends 

A.  That  a  large  percentage  of  the  Filipinos  10 

are  uncivilized. 

B.  That  the  Filipinos  arenot  capable  of  admin- 

istering independent  self-government. 

C.  That   the   present   form   of   government, 

extended   indefinitely,   is   more  to  the  15 
advantage  of  the  Filipinos  in  their  en- 
deavor  to   establish   independent   self- 
government  than  any  form   that  could 
be  established  within  a  year. 

IX.   The  term  "one  year"  is  used  merely  to  indicate  20 
the  difference    between    immediate  indepen- 
dence (allowing  a  little  time  for  details)  and 
an  independence  granted  after  a  longer  period 
of  United  States'  sovereignty. 

X.   Independent  self-government  is  complete  gov-  25 
ernment  by  the  Filipinos  without  the  exer- 
cise of  a  protectorate  by  the  United  States 
except  in  so  far  as  to  prevent  deliberate  land 
grabbing  by  outside  nations  without  just  cause. 


Brief  169 

XI.  By  satisfactory  government,  we  mean  a  govern- 
ment, like  the  government  of  civilized  nations, 
which  will 

(a)  Establish  law  and  order. 

(b)  Protect  private  rights.  5 

(c)  Provide  for  general  education. 

(d)  Promote   necessary    internal    improve- 

ments. 

(e)  Guard  commercial  interests. 

XII.   It  is  admitted  10 

A.  That  the  United  States  is,  at  this  time, 

responsible  for  the  internal  and  exter- 
nal affairs  of  the  Islands. 

B.  That  in  or  out  of  the  Islands  the  United 

States  could  protect  them  against  foreign  15 
aggression. 

C.  That  independence  should  be  granted  to 

the   Filipinos   if   they   are   capable   of 
exercising  it  wisely. 

XIII.  Moral  and  international  questions   concerning  20 

the  assumption  of  the  Islands  by  the  United 
States  are  waived. 

XIV.  The  commercial  value  of  the  Islands  to  the 

United  States  shall  not  enter  this  discussion. 
XV.  In  the  light  of  the  definition  of  "satisfactory  25 
self -government"  (XI)  and  of  the  admitted 
matter  (XII)  which  places  the  responsibility 
of  the  United  States  and  fixes  the  basis  upon 
which  independence  ought  to  be  granted, 


1 70  Brief 

the  contentions  of  both  sides  can  be  settled 
by 
XVI.    The  following  special  issues :  — 

A.   Will  the  Filipinos,  in  a  year,  be  capable 

of  exercising  a  satisfactory  government,    5 

in  that 

(1)  Can  they  establish  law  and  order? 

(2)  Can  they  protect  private  rights? 

(3)  Can  they  provide  for  education  of 

the  people?  10 

(4)  Can  they  provide  satisfactory  inter- 

nal improvements? 

(5)  Can  they  guard  their  commercial 

interests  ? 

PROOF 

I.   The  Filipinos  can  establish  law  and  order,  for          15 

A.  "They  are  naturally  a  law-abiding  people." 

(The  Schurman  Commission.) 

B.  "These  people  are  far  superior  in  their  in- 

telligence and  more  capable  of  self-gov- 
ernment than  the  natives  of  Cuba,  and  I  20 
am  familiar  with  both  races." 

(Admiral    Dewey    to  Secretary    of 
Navy,  June  27,  1898.) 

C.  In  1898  they  were  capable  of  satisfactory 

self-government,  for  25 

i.  "They  devised  an  excellent  constitu- 
tion, they  had  a  congress,  they  had 


Brief  171 

courts,  they  had  a  president,  they 

had  a  cabinet. " 

(Senator  Hoar  before  the  Senate, 
April,  1900.  Constitution  sub- 
mitted in  evidence.)  5 

2.  An    active,  representative  government 

was  exercised  at  Malolos,  in  which 
(a)  There  was  a  constitution. 
(Constitution   published,   Sen. 

Doc.  208,  p.  107.)  10 

(6)  All  the  provinces   were  repre- 
sented. 

(Sixto   Lopez,  "Tribes  in  the 
Philippines.") 

3.  Under  the  Philippine  Constitution  the  15 

people  throughout  Luzon  and  the 
Visayas  were  in  the  enjoyment  of  a 
quiet  and  orderly  government. 
(Senator  Hoar,  supra.} 

4.  Though  it  is  said  that  Americans  fill  20 

highest  offices,  yet  "the  fact  is  that 
the  Philippine  Commissioners  have 
always  been  able  to  find  natives  ca- 
pable of  filling  any  position  from 
justice  of  the  Supreme  Court  down  25 
to  policemen.     It  was  their  boast 
that  so  many  natives  filled  positions 
high  and  low. 
(Hoar,  supra.) 


172  Brief 

II.   The  Filipinos  can  protect  private  rights,  for 

A.  "The  Philippine  government  has  (1898)  an 

organized  military  force  in  every  province 
we  have  visited." 

(Report  of  Wilcox  and  Sargent  filed  with    5 
War  Department.) 

B.  "There  are  no  Spaniards  here  (Cayagan  and 

Isabella  provinces)  with  the  exception  of 
two  or  three  merchants.     One  of  these  we 
have  met.     He  is  pursuing  his  business  10 
entirely  unmolested." 
(Report  of  W.  and  S.,  supra.) 

C.  Governor  Taft's  testimony  before  the  Senate 

Committee  on  the  Philippines  shows  that 
the  Malolos  Constitution  was  made  up  by  15 
a  reference  to  the  Mexican  and  Argentine 
Republican  Constitutions,  and  by  a  com- 
parison with  that  of  the  United  States. 
(pp.  386-387.) 

D.  John  Barrett,  our  Minister  to  Siam,  said :  —  20 

"It"   (the  Filipino  government)   "has  a 
properly   formed   cabinet    and   congress; 
the    members    compare    favorably    with 
Japanese  statesmen.     They  show  a  knowl- 
edge of  debate  and  parliamentary  law  that  25 
would  not  compare  unfavorably  with  the 
Japanese  parliament." 
(Extract  from  Moorfield  Storey's  speech  be- 
fore North  Carolina  Bar,  Jan.  16, 1903.) 


Brief  173 

III.   They  can  provide  for  education  of  the  people,  for 

A.  "The  Filipinos  opened  elementary  schools 

in     almost     every     village.     They    also 
founded  high  schools  and  university  col- 
leges throughout  the  archipelago ;    also  a    5 
university,  two  large  normal   schools  for 
male  and  female  teachers,  and  five  large 
schools  for  women  in  Manila." 
(Sixto  Lopez,  evidence  presented  to  the 
Senate,  June  3,  1902.)  10 

B.  "Education  in  this  country  is  very  far  ad- 

vanced both  in  the  primary  grades  and 

the  university  grades." 

(Testimony  of  the  President  of  the  Royal 

University  of  Manila  before  the  Schur-  15 

man  Commission.) 

C.  "At  the    Manila  University  5000  students 

are  in   attendance"   (Congressman  Sha- 
froth  in  his  account  of  his  visit  to  the 
Islands),   "and  there  were  2100  schools  20 
in  the  Islands." 

D.  There  are  112  Filipinos  in  31  universities  or 

colleges  in  the  United  States,  including 
Georgetown,  Holy  Cross,  M.  I.  T.,  and 
Cornell  University.  25 

(New  York  Evening  Post,  Nov.  17,  1904.) 

E.  "You  will  find  quite  a  number  of  Filipinos 

who  have  studied  and  hold  degrees  from 
the  most  celebrated  of  the  German  Uni- 


1 74  Brief 

versities, — Berlin,    Leipzig,    Heidelberg, 
and    Gottingen." 

Congressman  Greene  in  the  House  of 
Representatives,  Mar.  12,  1902.  He 
visited  the  Islands.)  5 

F'.  Although  it  may  be  argued  by  the  negative 
that  the  civilized  portion  is  small,  yet  "  the 
provincial  people,  who  constitute  more 
than  nineteen  twentieths  of  the  entire  pop- 
ulation of  the  archipelago,  belong  to  one  10 
race  and  all  of  them  are  Christian  people 
practicing  the  morals  and  arts  of  civiliza- 
tion, and  speaking  dialects  which  are  as 
similar  to  each  other  as  the  dialects  of  the 
different  provinces  in  England."  15 

(Sixto  Lopez,  "Tribes  in  the  Philip- 
pines.") (Senator  Hoar  before  the 
Senate,  April  17,  1900.)  (President 
Schurman  of  the  first  Philippine  Com- 
mission.) 20 
F".  The  one  twentieth  can  be  taken  care  of  by 

those  who  are  civilized. 

F'".  Governor  Taft   before   the  Senate  Com- 
mittee    said,    "The     Christian    persons 
amount  to  something  over  5,000,000,  per-  25 
haps    6,000,000."       (There     were     then 
7,000,000  people  in   the  Islands.) 
(Moorfield  Storey  in  his  address  to  South 
Carolina  Bar,  p.  19.) 


Brief  175 

G.  Notwithstanding  Spanish  indifference  and 
monastic  opposition,  the  Filipinos  have 
opened  elementary  schools  in  almost  every 
village.  They  have  also  founded  high 
schools  and  university  colleges  through-  5 
out  the  archipelago,  and  a  university  and 
two  large  normal  schools  for  male  and 
female  teachers,  and  five  large  schools  for 
women  in  Manila. 

(Hon.  Edw.  W.  Carmack,  United  States  10 
Senate  June  3,  1902.) 

H.  Though  Mr.   Atkinson,   Superintendent  of 
Instruction  in  the  Philippines,  in  a  recent 
number  of  the  Outlook,  states  that  "since 
the  coming  of  Americans,  private  schools  15 
have  sprung  up  like  mushrooms,"  yet  this 
impression  of  American  activity  is  wrong ; 
in    most    cases    these    schools    formerly 
existed  but  had  been  closed  by  the  war. 
(Hon.  Edw.  W.  Carmack,  United  States  20 
Senate,  June  3,  1902.) 

I.  Schurman  Commission  declares :  A  system  of 
free  schools  for  the  people  has  been  an 
important  element  in  every  Filipino  pro- 
gramme of  reforms.  25 

J.  Congressman  Shafroth  testified  that  on  his 
visit  to  the  Islands  he  found  "Filipinos 
compounding  medicines  taken  from  bot- 
tles labeled  in  Latin,  natives  acting  as 


176  Brief 

bookkeepers  in  large  banks,  Filipino  clerks 
in  almost  all  lines  of  business,  engineers 
on  railroads,  musicians  rendering  high- 
class  music ;  he  found  them  making  ob- 
servations and  intricate  experiments  at  5 
the  Manila  Observatory,  and  he  was  told 
that  prior  to  the  instruction  there  were 
2100  schools  in  the  Island  and  5000  stu- 
dents in  attendance  at  the  Manila  Uni- 
versity." 10 
IV.  The  Filipinos  can  provide  for  satisfactory  inter- 
nal improvements,  for 

A.  They  had  before  American  rule  "a  cable 

connecting  the  capital  with  Hongkong,  an 
internal  telegraph  system  extending  to  all  15 
the  important  towns  of  the  Islands  of  Lu- 
zon, a  railroad  125  miles  in  length,  tram- 
ways, electric  lights,  and,  in  the  capital 
city,    a    well-constructed    water    plant." 
(Congressman   Greene  to   the  House  of  20 
Representatives,  Mar.  12,  1902.) 

B.  "The  Visayas  raise  their  own  food,  consist- 

ing mainly  of  rice,  fish,  and  fruit.  . .  .  The 
women  of  many  of  the  islands  are  expert 
weavers,  using  the  hand  loom  entirely  and  25 
making  the  celebrated  pina  and  hoosic 
cloth;    also  mats  and  cotton  and  hemp 
cloth." 
(Greene,  supra.) 


Brief  177 

V.   The  Filipinos  can  guard  commercial  interests,  for 

A.  The  War    Correspondence  of    1898   shows 

them  a  capable  people. 

(Sen.  Doc.  375,  57th  Cong,  ist  Sess.) 

B.  They  have  had  courts.  5 

C.  The    recent  conflicts  with    Spain  and   the 

United  States  show  that  power  to  enforce 
decrees  would  be  possible. 

D.  The  Filipino  army  was  30,000  strong  and 

constantly  increasing.  10 

(Senator  Hoar,  Sen.  Rep.  53.) 

E.  Though   Admiral   Dewey  once  felt  that  a 

force  of  5000  men  was  all  that  was  nec- 
essary to  reduce  the  Islands  to  our  com- 
plete control,  at  present  36  war  vessels,  15 
2051  officers,  and  63,483  men  are  found 
necessary. 

(Senator  Hoar,  supra.) 
VI.   The  contention  of  the  Negative  "that  the  present 

form   of    government    extended    indefinitely    is  20 
more  to  the  advantage  of  the  Filipinos''  is  absurd, 
for 

A.  No  ruler  will  stay  there  and  no  white  families 

will  be  founded  there.     (Standing  Order 
of  Army  and  Navy  for  relays  for  soldiers  25 
every  two  years  on  account  of  climate.) 
(Mr.  Townsend,  "Asia  and  Europe,"  p.  86. ) 

B.  Our  policy  does  not  lead  to  Filipino  inde- 

pendence, for 


178  Brief 

1.  If    Americans    invest    in    the    Islands 

under  *  United  States  sovereignty, 
acquire  mines,  forests,  great  tracts 
of  land  and  public  franchises,  the 
strongest  possible  barrier  against  5 
Filipino  independence  is  established, 
because 

(a)  Our  citizens  may  well  say :  "You 
invited  us  to  the  Islands;  you 
told  us  capital  was  needed;  10 
we  accepted  your  invitation; 
you  must  stay  here  as  guardian 
of  our  property. 

2.  Beet-sugar  producers  control  our  pol- 

icy in  Cuba.  15 

3.  The    alliance    between    financial    and 

political  interests  stirred  up  the  Boer 
War. 
C.   Americans  and  Filipinos  have  no  mutual 

sympathy,  for  20 

1.  Secretary  Taft  told  the  Chamber  of 

Commerce  that  "the  American  mer- 
chants"   there    "easily    caught    the 
feeling  of  hostility  and  contempt  felt 
by  many  of  the  soldiers  for  the  Fili-  25 
pinos." 

2.  An  urgent   petition  was  mailed,  Oct. 

10,  1901,  from  a  committee  of  Fili- 
pinos at  Hongkong  to  the  President 


Brief  1 79 

of    the    United    States,    praying    for 
immediate  independence. 

3.  Twenty  Filipinos  in  London  joined  in  a 

petition  to  express  confidence  in  the 
sincerity   of   the   Filipino    movement    5 
for  independence. 

4.  As   far   back    as  Sept.  24,   1898,  the 

London   Times   printed   the  account 
of  the  Filipino  struggle  for  freedom 
and  a  request  by  the  Filipino  National  10 
Assembly  to  recognize  the  independ- 
ence of  the  Philippines. 

D.  The  Islands  are  for  American  capital.    (Taf t. ) 

E.  "We  make  no  hypocritical  pretense  of  being 

interested    in    the   Philippines   solely   on  15 
,t     account  of  others. " 

(Senator  Lodge,  Republican  Convention 
in  Philadelphia.) 

F.  The  form  of  government  given  is  not  suited 

to  the  needs  of  the  Filipinos.  20 

(Mr.  Ireland,  Atlantic  Monthly,  Novem- 
.  her,  1904.) 

G.  G.  F.  Seward,  N.  Y.,  Professor  Henry  Van 

Dyke,  N.  J.,  Charles  F.  Adams,  Mass., 
and  President  Charles  W.  Eliot  of  Har-  25 
vard  University,  signing  the  petition  to  the 
national  conventions  said,  "Neither  do  we 
indulge  in  the  delusion  that  their  (Filipino) 
government  will  be  all  that  we  might  de- 


180  Brief 

sire,  but  the  Cubans  have  done  well  since 
they  were  left  to  themselves,  and  Mex- 
ico,   Argentina,    Chili,  and    Brazil   after 
years  of  turmoil  and  confusion  have  at    5 
last    succeeded    in    establishing    govern- 
ments  commanding   the    esteem   of   the 
world." 
H.  The  policy  will  sap  the  resources  of  the 

dependency,  since  10 

1.  India  is  sapped  by  the  English. 

(J.  S.  Mill,  History  of  India."  ) 

2.  American  capitalists  will  have  no  regard 

for  the  welfare  of  the  native  popula- 
tion. 15 
(The  case  of  Porto  Rico.    Testimony 

of  a  senior  in  the   Cornell   Law 

School.) 

I.  The  present  position    of    the  negative,  re- 

garding ignorance  of  the  people  governed,  20 
was  urged  in   1822   against  Henry  Clay 
when  he  advocated  the  recognition  of  the 
South  American  republics. 

CONCLUSION 

Since  the  Filipinos 

I.    Can  establish  law  and  order ;  25 

II.  Can  protect  private  rights-j- 

III.    Can  provide  for  education  of  the  people ; 


Brief  181 

IV.    Can  provide  satisfactory  internal  improve- 
ments; and 

V.    Can  guard  their  commercial  interests ; 
Therefore,  within   a   year    the   United    States 
should  turn  the  Philippine  Islands  over  to  the 
Filipinos  for  independent  self-government. 


INTRODUCTIONS 

THE    CURRENCY   BILL1 
THEODORE  OILMAN 

Now  that  the  method  of  issuing  bank  currency  through 
voluntary  corporations  composed  of  associated  national 
banks  has  been  made  part  of  the  banking  laws  of  the 
United  States,  by  the  enactment  of  the  Aldrich-Vree- 
land  bill,  with  the  object  of  preventing  monetary  panics,  5 
it  devolves  upon  those  who  approve  of  the  principle  of 
the  measure  to  show  its  place  in  republican  banking 
legislation,  and  to  establish  its  claim  to  be  wise,  safe, 
and  efficient.  This  law  is  without  precedent,  because 
never  before  in  the  history  of  the  financial  world  has  10 
there  been  an  attempt  to  construct  a  banking  system  of, 
by,  and  for  the  people.  A  departure  from  precedents, 
especially  in  banking  methods,  is  so  unusual  as  to  con- 
stitute an  era  in  banking;  and  it  is  well  to  pause  at  the 
threshold  of  the  subject  to  inquire  into  the  reasons  for  15 
this  radical  change.  Does  it  stand  the  test  of  the  prin- 
ciples laid  down  by  the  authorities  ?  Is  it  in  the  nature 
of  an  experiment,  and,  above  all,  can  it  be  justified  by 
experience  ? 

1  Reprinted  by  permission  from  The  North  American  Review. 
182 


RACE-TRACK  GAMBLING 
THE  OUTLOOK 

NEXT  week  the  New  York  Legislature  will  meet  in 
extra  session  to  consider,  primarily,  the  bills  aiming  to 
abolish  race-track  gambling.  These  bills,  at  the  regu- 
lar session,  passed  the  Assembly  by  an  almost  unani- 
mous vote,  but  were  defeated  in  the  Senate  on  a  vote  of  5 
25  to  25.  What  is  the  issue  presented  by  these  meas- 
ures? In  1895  an  amendment  to  the  State  Constitution 
was  adopted  which  read  as  follows: — 

Nor  shall  any  lottery  or  the  sale  of  lottery  tickets,  pool-selling, 
book-making,  or  any  other  kind  of  gambling  hereafter  be  author-  10 
ized  or  allowed  within  this  State ;  and  the  Legislature  shall  pass 
appropriate  laws  to  prevent  offences  against  any  of  the  provisions 
of  this  section. 

In  the  same  year  the  Legislature  amended  the  Penal 
Code  so  as  to  make  it  a  felony  to  engage  in  pool-selling  15 
or  bookmaking,  at  any  time  or  place,  or  to  record  bets 
or  to  keep  or  occupy  any  place  or  stand  for  such  purpose. 
This  provision  would  have  operated  to  put  an  end  to  all 
gambling  on  horse  races  anywhere  in  the  State,  if  a 
provision  had  not  been  added  that  this  classification  as  a  20 
felony  should  not  apply  in  any  case  where  an  exclusive 
penalty  was  provided  in  some  other  law.     At  the  same 
time  the  so-called  Percy-Gray  Law  was  passed,  which 

183 


1 84  Introductions 

provided  that  the  exclusive  penalty  for  bookmaking 
and  pool-selling  on  authorized  race  tracks,  provided  no 
memorandum  or  token  of  the  bet  was  delivered,  should 
be  the  forfeiture  of  the  amount  wagered,  to  be  recovered 
in  a  civil  action.  The  action  of  the  Legislature  created  5 
an  anomalous  condition  in  the  State.  The  man  who 
manages  a  pool  room  in  New  York  City,  for  instance, 
and  accepts  wagers  on  the  races  to  be  run  at  Sheepshead 
Bay,  is  guilty  of  a  felony,  and  may  be  punished  by  a  fine 
of  not  more  than  $2000,  or  by  imprisonment  in  a  State  10 
prison  for  not  more  than  two  years;  while  the  man 
within  the  inclosure  of  a  race  track,  who  does  precisely 
the  same  act  as  his  fellow-bookmaker  in  New  York 
City,  is  liable  to  have  the  loser  of  a  bet  sue  him  and 
recover  the  amount  of  his  wager,  and  he  is  liable  to  no  15 
other  penalty.  Gambling  on  horse  races  outside  a  race- 
track fence  is  a  felony,  for  which  a  man  may  go  to  prison ; 
identically  the  same  kind  of  gambling  on  the  same 
horse  races  within  the  charmed  circle  of  the  race-track 
fence  is  practically  permitted  under  the  protection  of  20 
the  law,  for  the  penalty  imposed  is  so  inadequate  that  it 
is  never  invoked.  The  bills  which  were  introduced,  at 
the  recommendation  of  Governor  Hughes,  place  gam- 
bling in  and  out  of  the  race  tracks  on  the  same  footing. 
They  make  bookmaking  and  pool-selling  everywhere  25 
in  the  State  a  misdemeanor,  punishable  by  imprison- 
ment for  not  more  than  one  year. 

The  arguments  in  favor  of  the  continuation  of  the 
existing  state  of  affairs  and  the  permitting  of  book- 


Race-Track  Gambling  185 

making  within  face-track  inclosures  are,  as  far  as  we 
apprehend  them,  as  follows :  — 

1.  The  Court  of  Appeals  has  decided  that  the  Percy- 
Gray  Law  is  Constitutional.    It  has  declared  that  the 
Constitution  has  clothed  the  Legislature  with  the  right    5 
to  determine  what  laws  are  "  appropriate "  for  carrying 
into  effect  the  provision  of  the  Constitution  in  regard 
to  gambling;  that  the  Percy-Gray  Law  is  "in  a  sense 
appropriate  to  accomplish  the  purpose  of  that  pro- 
vision"; and  that,  "it  being  in  a  degree  appropriate,"  10 
there    is    no    principle    of    Constitutional    law   which 
would  authorize  the  Court  to  condemn  it  as  invalid  or 
unconstitutional.     Since   the   Legislature,   by   passing 
laws  which  in  its  judgment  are  "appropriate"  to  pre- 
vent offenses  against  the  provision  of  the  Constitution  15 
quoted  above,  has  complied  with  the  Constitutional 
mandate,  it  has  no  duty  now  to  reverse  its  action. 

2.  Gambling  is  an  evil  which  cannot  be  entirely  done 
away  with.     Men  will  gamble.     Since  we  cannot  abol- 
ish it,  let  us  regulate  it  by  confining  it  to  race  tracks  20 
where  conditions  are  healthful,  and  where  the  sport  is 
carried  on  in  an  orderly,  honest  fashion.     By  so  doing 
we  will  diminish  the  number  of  pool  rooms  in  the  cities, 
for  the  Jockey  Club  does  everything  in  its  power  to  keep 
the  news  of  the  results  of  the  races  from  the  outside  25 
gambling  establishments. 

3.  Without  gambling  the  sport  of  horse-racing  can- 
not be  continued.     Without  horse-racing  the  breed  of 
horses  cannot  so  rapidly  and  so  surely  be  improved. 


1 86  Introductions 

In  addition  to  these  general  arguments  certain  specific 
objections  are  made  to  the  present  bills :  — 

4.  To  make  bookmaking  outside  of  race  tracks  a 
misdemeanor  where  it  is  now  a  felony  is  to  encourage 
the  increase  of  pool  rooms.  5 

5.  To  make  the  penalty  for  gambling  imprisonment 
only,  without  the  alternative  of  a  fine,  is  too  drastic. 
The  offense  is  not  such  a  serious  one  as  to  call  for  such 
a  penalty. 

6.  The  bills  are  unfair  because   they  go  into  effect  10 
immediately  on  their  passage.     It  is  the  usual  custom 
for  amendments  to  the  Penal  Code  to  become  operative 
on  September  i.     Many  contracts  have  been  entered  into 
for  the  present  racing  season  in  reliance  upon  the  pres- 
ent law.     It  would  entail  great  loss  on  owners  of  racing  15 
stables  and  would  be  practically  confiscation  to  close 
the  race  tracks  before  the  season  is  over. 

To  these  arguments,  which  are  the  strongest  that  have 
been  offered,  we  would  reply  as  follows :  — 

i.   There  may  be  a  wide  difference  between  a  law  20 
which  does  not  violate  the  Constitution,  and  one  which 
in  good  faith  carries  out  a  provision  of  the  Constitution. 
The  Court  decided  that  it  found  no  reason  to  declare 
the  law  unconstitutional,  not  that  it  found  that  the  law 
sincerely  complied  with  the  Constitutional  mandate.  25 
Since  it  found  the  law  "in  a  degree  appropriate, "  it  was 
not  called  upon  to  pronounce  on  the  question  whether 
it  was   appropriate  to  the  point  of  efficiency.      The 
Legislature,  under  the  clever  guidance  of  astute  law- 


Race-Track  Gambling  187 

yers,  complied  with  the  letter  of  the  Constitution  with 
the  narrowest  possible  margin  between  their  action  and 
non-compliance.  That  it  utterly  failed  to  comply  with 
the  spirit  of  the  Constitution  is  proved  by  the  fact  that 
the  provision  was  inserted  in  the  Constitution  for  the  5 
express  purpose  of  making  impossible  the  allowing  of 
race-track  gambling,  which  had  been  going  on  for  seven 
years  under  the  Ives  Law,  and  by  the  fact  that  the  Percy- 
Gray  Law  has  not  in  the  slightest  degree  incommoded 
gamblers  in  the  practices  which  the  framers  of  the  Con-  10 
stitution  sought  to  suppress. 

2.  Those  who  believe  that  gambling  should  be  regu- 
lated have  a  right  to  their  opinion,  but  when  they  suggest 
that  the  regulation  be  done  under  the  pretense  of  pro- 
hibition, by  a  trick,  an  evasion  of  the  intent  of  the  15 
fundamental  law  of  the  State,  they  ostracize  themselves 
from  the  company  of  law-abiding  men.     The  Percy- 
Gray  Law  is  not  a  regulating  act.    It  does  not  pretend 

to  be.     If  it  purported  to  regulate  gambling  by  permit- 
ting it  under  certain  conditions,  it  would  be  unconstitu-  20 
tional  on  its  face.     Let    those  who  want  to  regulate 
gambling,  and  by  so  doing  minimize  its  evils,  try  to 
secure  an  amendment  to  the  Constitution  to  that  end. 
If  the  abolition  of  race-track  gambling  increases  the 
number  of  pool  rooms,  so  be  it.     It  is  better  to  have  25 
pool  rooms  in  violation  of  the  law,  than  race-track 
gambling  by  legislative  evasion  and  nullification  of  the 
Constitution. 

3.  If  to  improve  the  horse  we  must  deteriorate  men  by 


1 88  Introductions 

making  vice  easy  and  pleasant  for  them,  and  must  de- 
grade our  ideals  of  respect  for  law  and  the  sovereign 
will  of  the  people,  let  the  horse  go  to  destruction.  The 
price  is  too  high  to  pay. 

4.  Experience  would  indicate   that   to  make  book-    5 
making  a  misdeameanor  will  not  encourage  the  increase 

of  pool  rooms,  but  rather  the  contrary.  With  gam- 
bling a  felony,  juries  will  not  convict.  Laws  without 
convictions  under  them  are  worse  than  none. 

5.  A  penalty,  to  be  adequate,  must  be  heavy  enough  10 
to  act  as  a  deterrent.     The  gambler  does  not  fear  a  fine. 
He  counts  it  in  as  an  expense  of  his  business,  and  goes 
on  gambling. 

6.  The  duty  of  carrying  out  the  intent  of  the  Consti- 
tution admits  of  no  postponement.     Contracts  which  15 
depend  for  their  profitable  carrying  out  on  the  continu- 
ance of  illegal  practice  (illegal  even  under  the  present 
law)   have  no  right  to  consideration.     As   Governor 
Hughes  has  said,  "  Under  what  provision  of  the  Con- 
stitution or  the  laws  is  there  any  vested  right  in  main-  20 
taining    gambling    privileges?     Are    we    to    recognize 
vested  rights  in  the  profits  of  lawbreaking  ? " 

Stripped  of  the  sophistries  and  side  issues  with  which 
those  who  profit  from  the  protection  of  race-track  gam- 
bling seek  to  confuse  the  question,  it  is  a  very  simple  issue  25 
which  confronts  the  State  of  New  York.  Are  the  people 
and  their  Constitution  supreme  in  the  State,  or  are  the 
gamblers  and  their  associates  to  defy  them  in  maintain- 
ing their  special  privilege  in  vice? 


NATIONAL  CONTROL  OF  INTERSTATE 
RAILWAYS 

SETH  Low 

THE  railway  situation  in  the  United  States  at  the 
present  time  deserves  the  most  earnest  consideration. 
The  movement  of  merchandise  has  outstripped  present 
facilities,  and  the  railways  would  like  to  enlarge;  but 
they  find  it  difficult  to  get  the  necessary  money.  The  5 
public  wants  the  railways  to  enlarge;  but  it  will  not 
furnish  the  money.  Ordinarily,  the  promise  of  a  good 
return  on  the  investment  would  secure  ample  funds. 
Why  is  it  that,  in  a  time  of  great  commercial  activity, 
the  funds  are  not  forthcoming?  Doubtless  there  are  10 
many  reasons,  and  ODC  of  the  most  evident  is  that  so 
much  money  is  needed  that  it  is  hard  to  get  enough. 
But,  back  of  all  that,  there  lie  two  influences  which  cer- 
tainly have  to  be  reckoned  with.  The  plain  man  under- 
stands that  business  enterprises  and  good  service  are  15 
entitled  to  fair  earnings.  What  he  does  not  understand 
is,  in  what  respect  railway  business  so  far  differs  from 
any  other  business  that  those  upon  the  inside  can  hon- 
estly and  honorably  become  multi-millionaires,  while 
those  upon  the  outside  so  often  find  themselves  the  20 
owners  of  worthless  stock.  He  observes  that  the  direc- 

1  Reprinted  by  permission  from  The  Outlook. 


i  go  Introductions 

tors  of  savings  banks  do  not  become  rich  in  that  way. 
He  suspects,  therefore,  that  the  many  millions  of 
the  few  have,  in  many  cases,  been  made  at  the  ex- 
pense of  those  for  whom  these  few  have  been  trustees. 
He  thinks  that  there  has  been  in  railway  boards  of  5 
direction  a  widespread  loss  of  the  sense  of  trusteeship; 
and  he  is  more  and  more  coming  to  demand  of  railway 
directors  the  same  sort  of  self-abnegation  that  the  law 
demands  of  a  private  trustee  as  towards  his  ward.  The 
law  allows  a  trustee  reasonable  compensation ;  but  it  10 
does  not  allow  the  personal  enrichment  of  the  trustee  at 
the  expense  of  the  ward.  It  is  true  that  railway  direc- 
tors and  railway  stockholders  buy  and  sell  upon  an  open 
market.  But  whenever  a  director  buys  upon  private 
information  obtained  by  him  as  a  director,  the  question  15 
must  arise  in  the  domain  of  conscience,  Would  his 
stockholder  sell  if  he  had  the  same  information  ?  That, 
in  my  judgment,  is  the  sort  of  feeling  that  underlies  a 
great  deal  of  criticism  of  high  finance;  the  feeling  that 
the  investment  public,  not  the  inside  few  but  the  outside  20 
many,  are  entitled  to  the  same  sort  of  protection  from 
the  law  that  the  law  gives  as  towards  trustees  for  in- 
dividuals. Hence  the  demand  for  Government  control 
on  the  side  of  railway  financiering. 

The  same  demand  for  Government  control  comes,  25 
also,  from  those  who  use  the  railways  —  that  is  to  say, 
from  the  general  public.     But  this  demand,  I  think,  and 
the  troubles  that  confront  the  railways  because  of  it, 
spring  largely  from  different  considerations.    A  radical 


National  Control  of  Interstate  Railways     191 

change  is  taking  place  in  the  public  conception  of  what 
a  railway  is.  Up  to  recent  times  it  has  been  taken  for 
granted  that  railroading  is  a  branch  of  private  business. 
That  has  been  substantially  the  conception  embodied 
in  law;  and  that  has  certainly  been  the  conception  of  5 
those  building  and  operating  railways.  But,  if  that  is 
the  correct  conception  of  railroading,  what  is  the  objec- 
tion to  rebating  ?  It  is  a  well-established  characteristic 
of  commercial  business  that  goods  can  be  moved  in  a 
wholesale  way  more  cheaply  than  at  retail.  If,  then,  10 
railroading  is  a  private  business,  why  should  it  not  be  all 
right  for  the  largest  shipper  to  be  given  the  lowest  rates  ? 
Experience,  on  the  other  hand,  has  made  it  clear  that  the 
railways,  upon  whom  everybody  is  dependent,  by  prac- 
ticing rebating  make  it  possible  for  the  favored  shipper  15 
to  drive  all  competitors  out  of  the  market.  Hence  the 
belief  is  becoming  general,  outside  perhaps  of  railway 
and  investment  circles,  that  railways  are  not  to  be  looked 
upon  as  conducting  a  private  business ;  they  are  rather 
to  be  thought  of  as  private  agents  conducting  a  part  of  20 
the  business  of  the  state.  In  other  words,  what  the 
public  wants  in  railway  management  is  the  public  qual- 
ity, as  distinguished  from  the  business  quality.  That  is 
to  say,  it  wants  equality  of  treatment  for  all  alike,  large 
shippers  and  small,  instead  of  the  discriminations  that  25 
are  usual  and  to  be  expected  in  private  business.  The 
importance  of  the  distinction  can  be  well  illustrated  by 
the  tariff.  An  importer  who  brings  into  the  country 
$1,000,000  worth  of  silk  goods  must  pay  exactly  the 


1 92  Introductions 

same  rate  of  duty  as  the  importer  who  brings  in  only 
$1000  worth.  That  equality  of  treatment  indicates 
the  public  quality  of  the  tariff.  Suppose,  on  the 
other  hand,  that,  after  the  manner  of  business,  the  tariff 
charged  the  large  importers  only  40  per  cent,  and  made  5 
the  little  ones  pay  60  per  cent,  is  it  not  clear  that  the  large 
importers  could  drive  all  the  little  ones  out  of  business  ? 
But  that  is  precisely  what  the  railways  have  been  doing 
with  their  rebates;  and  that  is  why  the  public  are  no 
longer  willing  to  admit  that  railroading  is  a  private  busi-  10 
ness.  That  is  why  the  people  demand  that  the  railways 
themselves  should  recognize  that  they  are  only  private 
agents  doing  a  part  of  the  public  business ;  and  that  is 
why  the  public  demand  that  the  law  henceforth  shall 
proceed  upon  this  new  view  of  what  railways  are.  The  15 
demand  heard  in  some  quarters  that  railways  shall  be- 
long to  the  Government  and  be  operated  by  the  Gov- 
ernment, presumably  does  not  spring  from  any  special 
desire  to  have  the  Government  do  this  business  directly 
instead  of  through  private  agencies ;  but  it  springs  prin-  20 
cipally  from  the  notion  that  in  no  other  way  can  rail- 
way service  be  stamped  with  the  public  quality  that 
means  absolute  equality  of  treatment  of  big  and  little 
shippers  and  big  and  little  places;  in  a  word,  that  all 
shall  be  treated  alike.  Personally,  I  do  not  believe  that  25 
public  ownership  or  public  operation  are  either  the  only 
ways  or  the  best  ways  to  obtain  the  desired  results.  Two 
things,  however,  remain  to  be  said.  The  first  is  that  it 
rests  very  largely  with  railway  directors  and  managers 


National  Control  of  Interstate  Railways       193 

themselves  whether  the  country  is  driven  into  public 
ownership  and  operation  of  the  railways,  or  whether  the 
country  can  continue  to  avail  of  private  initiative,  pri- 
vate enterprise,  and  private  capital  in  this  department 
of  the  public  service.  The  second  is  that,  if  the  private  5 
management  of  railways  is  to  be  indefinitely  continued, 
Government  regulation  both  of  railway  finances  and  of 
railway  service  is  absolutely  essential.  It  may  be  taken 
for  granted  that  the  public  will  insist,  unceasingly,  on 
having  the  public  quality  of  equal  treatment  for  all  pre-  10 
dominate  in  all  the  relations  of  the  railways  to  the  public, 
as  distinguished  from  the  business  quality  of  discrimina- 
tion on  the  basis  of  the  volume  of  business.  Govern- 
ment regulation  may  indeed  lead  to  the  non-production 
of  multi-millionaires  as  a  by-product  of  railroading,  but  15 
it  ought  also  to  mean,  to  investors,  increasingly  safe 
returns. 

But  regulation  by  law  in  the  United  States  raises  an- 
other question.  Shall  it  be  regulation  by  the  States  or 
by  the  United  States,  or  by  both  ?  For  the  most  part,  20 
this  question  is  argued  from  the  constitutional  point  of 
view.  It  is  easy  to  say  that  the  jurisdiction  of  the  United 
States  is  limited  to  inter-State  commerce,  and  the  juris- 
diction of  each  State  to  commerce  within  itself.  But 
that  leaves  open  the  question,  What  are  the  limits  of  25 
inter-State  commerce?  To  answer  that  question  one 
must  consider  both  history  and  present  fact.  There  are 
two  clauses  in  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States,  as 
Judge  Amidon  recently  pointed  out,  and  not  one  only, 


1 94  Introductions 

that  bear  upon  the  subject.  The  first  is  the  clause  for- 
bidding any  State  to  levy  duties  on  imported  merchan- 
dise; and  the  second  is  the  clause  placing  inter-State 
commerce  under  the  control  of  the  General  Government. 
In  other  words,  the  framers  of  the  Constitution,  having  5 
seen  how  ready  each  State  was,  in  the  days  preceding 
our  present  Union,  to  advantage  itself  by  laying  bur- 
dens upon  its  neighbors,  inserted  these  two  clauses  to 
obviate  this  danger.  They  forbade,  explicitly,  direct 
attacks  by  one  State  on  the  commerce  of  another,  in  the  10 
form  of  duties;  and  then,  recognizing  that  what  the 
States  could  do  directly  they  could  also  do  indirectly, 
the  whole  subject  of  inter-State  commerce  was  placed 
under  the  general  control,  in  order  to  make  it  impos- 
sible for  any  one  State  to  injure  another.  15 
So  much  for  history.  Now  for  the  present  fact.  .  .  . 


SCIENCE   AND   A  FUTURE  LIFE1 
F.  W.  H.  MYERS 

To  the  question,  "What  has  science  to  say  as  to  man's 
survival  of  death  ?"  the  chief  spokesmen  of  modern 
science  are  inclined  to  answer,  "Nothing  at  all."  The 
affirmative  answer  she  holds  as  unproved,  and  the  nega- 
tive answer  as  unprovable.  5 

Nevertheless,  in  spite  of,  and  by  reason  of,  her 
studied  neutrality,  the  influence  of  science  is  every  year 
telling  more  strongly  against  a  belief  in  a  future  life. 
Inevitably  so;  since  whatever  science  does  not  tend  to 
prove,  she  in  some  sort  tends  to  disprove;  beliefs  die  10 
out,  without  formal  refutation,  if  they  find  no  place 
among  the  copious  store  of  verified  and  systematized 
facts  and  inferences  which  are  supplanting  the  traditions 
and  speculations  of  prescientific  days  as  the  main  mental 
pabulum  of  mankind.  15 

And  the  very  magnitude  of  the  special  belief  in  ques- 
tion renders  it,  in  one  sense,  the  more  easily  starved. 
Men  feel  that,  if  it  were  true,  there  would  surely  be  far 
more  to  be  said  for  it  than  they  have  ever  heard.  The 
silence  which  surrounds  the  topic  is  almost  more  dis-  20 
couraging  than  overt  attack.  At  first,  indeed,  in  the 
early  days  of  the  scientific  dominion,  savants  were  wont 

Reprinted  by  permission  from  "Science  and  a  Future  Life." 
New  York,  The  Macmillan  Company. 

195 


196  Introductions 

to  make  some  sort  of  apology,  or  disclaimer  of  compe- 
tence, when  their  doctrines  seemed  too  obviously  to 
ignore  man's  hope  of  a  future.  Then  came  open  as- 
saults from  audacious  and  confident  savants  —  to  whom 
the  apologetic  and  optimistic  savants  seemed  to  have  5 
nothing  particular  to  reply.  And  gradually  the  edu- 
cated world  —  that  part  of  it,  at  least,  which  science 
leads  —  is  waking  up  to  find  that  no  mere  trifles  or 
traditions  only,  but  the  great  hope  which  inspired  their 
fathers  aforetime,  is  insensibly  vanishing  away.  10 

Now  it  is  important  that  a  question  so  momentous 
should  not  thus  be  suffered  to  go  by  default.  There 
should  be  an  occasional  stock-taking  of  evidence,  an 
occasional  inquiry  whether,  among  the  multifarious 
advances  of  science,  any  evidence  has  been  discovered  15 
bearing  on  a  question  which,  after  all,  is  to  science  a 
question  of  evidence  alone. 

It  seems  to  me  that,  even  during  this  generation  — 
even  during  the  last  few  years  —  discoveries  have,  in 
fact,  been  made  which  must  gradually  revolutionize  our  20 
whole  attitude  towards  the  question  of  an  unseen  world, 
and  of  our  own  past,  present,  or  future  existence  therein. 

Some  of  the  discoveries  of  which  I  speak  —  in  the 
realm  of  automatism  and  of  human  personality  —  have 
already  commanded  wide  scientific  assent,  although  25 
their  drift  and  meaning  have,  as  I  hold,  been  as  yet  very 
imperfectly  understood.  Other  discoveries,  which  I 
regard  as  equally  valid,  are  as  yet  disputed  or  ignored; 
but  they  are,  in  fact,  so  closely  linked  with  what  is 


Science  and  a  Future  Life  197 

already  admitted,  that  all  analogy  (I  think)  leads  us  to 
suppose  that,  in  some  form  or  other,  these  newer  views 
also  are  destined  profoundly  to  modify  scientific  thought. 

The  discoveries  of  which  I  speak  are  not  the  result 
of  any  startling  novelties  of  method.  Rather,  they  are  5 
examples  of  the  fruitful  results  which  will  often  follow 
from  the  simple  application  of  well-known  methods  of 
research  to  a  group  of  phenomena  which,  for  some 
special  historical  reason,  has  hitherto  been  left  outside 
the  steady  current  of  experiment  and  observation.  10 

Now,  the  whole  inquiry  into  man's  survival  has  thus 
far,  if  I  may  so  say,  fallen  between  two  stools.  Neither 
those  who  support  the  thesis,  nor  those  who  impugn  it, 
have  thus  far  made  any  serious  attempt  to  approach  it 
by  scientific  method.  15 

On  the  one  hand,  materialistic  science  has,  naturally 

• 

enough,  preferred  to  treat  the  subject  as  hardly  capable 
of  argument.  There  is  the  obvious  fact  that,  when  a 
man  dies,  you  hear  nothing  more  from  him.  And 
there  is  the  fact  —  less  obvious,  indeed,  but  more  and  20 
more  fully  established  —  that  to  every  mental  change 
some  cerebral  change  corresponds;  with  the  inference 
that,  when  the  brain  decays,  the  mind  is  extinct  as  well. 
This  strong  negative  argument  forms  the  basis  of  the 
popular  treatises  —  Blichner's  "  Kraft  und  Stoff  "  and  25 
"  Das  Kiinftige  Leben  "  may  serve  as  examples  —  which 
urge  mankind  definitely  to  set  aside  all  thought  of  a  life 
to  come.  The  argument  is,  necessarily,  a  purely  nega- 
tive one ;  it  rests  on  the  absence  of  positive  testimony  to 


198  Introductions 

any  mental  energy  with  which  some  cerebral  change  is 
not  directly  concomitant.  The  negative  presumption 
will,  therefore,  be  shaken  if  accepted  notions  as  to  man's 
personality  are  shown  to  be  gravely  defective,  while  it 
will  be  at  once  overthrown  if  positive  evidence  to  man's  5 
survival  of  bodily  death  can  in  any  way  be  acquired. 

To  the  arguments  of  Materialism,  Philosophy  and 
Religion  have  replied  in  ways  of  their  own.  As  regards 
the  nature  of  human  personality,  philosophy  has  had 
much  to  say ;  and  man's  immortality  has  been  the  very  10 
corner  stone  of  the  Christian  faith.  But,  with  rare 
exceptions,  neither  philosophy  nor  religion  has  dis- 
covered, or  even  sought  for,  facts  and  arguments  which 
could  meet  materialistic  science  on  its  own  ground. 
The  spokesmen  of  religion,  indeed,  have  generally  pre-  15 
f erred,  for  ecclesiastical  or  for  moral  reasons,  to  leave  the 
question  of  man's  survival,  or,  as  they  have  termed  it, 
man's  immortality,  to  the  domain  of  faith.  On  ecclesi- 
astical grounds,  they  have  naturally  desired  to  retain  the 
monopoly  of  spiritual  teaching;  they  have  been  less  20 
concerned  to  prove  by  carnal  methods  that  an  unseen 
world  exists,  than  to  impress  their  own  crowning  mes- 
sage or  revelation  upon  men  who  already  believed  in 
that  world  as  a  reality.  On  moral  grounds,  also,  they 
have  felt  it  dangerous  to  allow  a  dogma  so  essential  as  25 
man's  future  life  to  be  thrown  into  the  caldron  of 
speculation.  So  long,  indeed,  as  the  earthly  prosperity 
of  the  righteous  was  held  sufficient  to  prove  the  moral 
government  of  the  world,  man's  destiny  after  death 


Science  and  a  Future  Life  199 

might  remain  an  open  field  for  primitive  questionings. 
But  when  earthly  justice  was  too  plainly  seen  to  fail,  then 
the  doctrine  of  future  reward  and  punishment  became 
necessary  in  order  to  justify  the  ways  of  God  to  men. 

Since,  then,  the  thesis  of  man's  survival  has  been  far    5 
oftener  defended  with  an  ethical  than  with  a  merely 
scientific  interest,  it  is  no  wonder  that  the  moral  and 
emotional  arguments  should  have  assumed  almost  com- 
plete predominance. 

With  those  arguments  I  have  in  this  essay  nothing  to  10 
do.     I  am  expressly  laying  aside  all  support  which  the 
belief  in  a  future  life  receives  either  from  "natural 
religion,"  from  philosophy,  or  from  revelation.     I  wish 
to  debate  the  matter  on  the  ground  of  experiments  and 
observations  such  as  are  appealed  to  in  other  inquiries  15 
for  definite  objective  proof. 


ARGUMENTS 

ASSUMPTIONS   ARE   NOT   PROOF1 
LYMAN  ABBOTT 

BEFORE  the  Legislature  of  New  York  there  are  two 
bills  "To  prevent  cruelty,  by  regulating  experiments  on 
animals."  Though  one  is  more  drastic  than  the  other, 
both  undertake  to  prescribe  conditions  under  which  such 
experiments  shall  be  conducted.  These  measures  con-  5 
cern  the  whole  Nation.  If  either  of  them  was  to  be 
passed,  the  researches  conducted  by  some  of  the  most 
eminent  medical  and  surgical  men  in  the  country  would 
be  seriously  affected. 

A  correspondent,  who  announces  his  dissatisfaction  10 
with  the  present  laws  on  the  subject,  gives,  from  a  non- 
medical  point  of  view,  on  another  page,  a  resume  of  some 
of  the  incalculable  benefits  that  have  flowed  from  vivi- 
section.    Those  who  question  these  benefits  are  either 
not  informed  or  are  beyond  the  reach  of  argument.     The  15 
real  question  is  not  as  to  the  merits  of  vivisection,  but 
as  to  the  proper  safeguards  with  which  the  law  should 
surround  it. 

At  present  the  law  of  New  York  State  applies  to 
experiments  upon  animals  the  sama  principle  that  it  20 
applies  to  surgical  operations  upon  men,  women,  and 

1  Reprinted  by  permission  from  The  Outlook. 


Assumptions  are  not  Proof  201 

children.  It  does  not  attempt  to  prescribe  the  conditions 
under  which  either  experiments  or  operations  should  be 
conducted ;  but  it  does  prescribe  the  standards  of  fitness 
which  every  person  who  may  lawfully  engage  in  surgery 
and  which  every  person  who  may  lawfully  engage  in  5 
animal  experimentation  must  meet.  It  penalizes  with 
fine  or  imprisonment  or  both  the  unjustifiable  injuring, 
mutilating,  or  killing  of  animals;  and  it  confines  to 
regularly  incorporated  medical  colleges  and  universi- 
ties of  the  State  the  authority  under  which  animal  ex-  10 
perimentation  may  be  conducted. 

The  burden  of  proof  rests  upon  those  who  would  have 
the  State  abandon  this  principle  and  substitute  for  it  the 
principle  of  prescribing  the  conditions  of  scientific  in- 
vestigation. It  rests  upon  them  to  prove,  in  the  first  15 
place,  that  the  present  law  is  inadequate.  It  is  not  suffi- 
cient for  them  to  produce  lawyers  who  give  opinions 
that  the  law  is  not  efficient.  There  are  lawyers  of  the 
highest  standing  in  the  State  who  declare  that  it  is  effi- 
cient. The  only  adequate  mode  of  proof  would  be  by  20 
the  prosecution  of  an  actual  abuse.  So  far  as  we  have 
been  able  to  learn,  only  one  authentic  case  of  alleged 
unjustifiable  experimentation  has  been  brought  forward 
by  the  supporters  of  the  bills.  This  is  certainly  not 
proof  that  the  present  law  is  inadequate.  25 

In  the  second  place,  the  burden  of  proof  rests  upon 
them  to  show  that  legal  restrictions  on  the  methods  of 
science  would  not  vitiate  investigations,  and  would  not 
therefore  entail  upon  human  beings  greater  suffering 


2O2  Arguments 

than  would  otherwise  be  inflicted  upon  animals.  Our 
correspondent  is,  we  are  sure,  in  error  when  he  implies 
that  an  attitude  of  lofty  disdain  characterizes  the  men  of 
the  medical  profession.  The  patient  and  painstaking 
public  arguments  presented  in  the  newspapers  and  5 
before  the  Legislature  by  medical  men  should  save  any 
one  from  implying  anything  of  this  sort.  A  letter  signed 
by  forty-one  of  the  most  eminent  physicians  and  surgeons 
and  two  authorities  in  physiology  in  New  York  City  (a  list 
of  names  that  for  standing  in  the  profession  could  prob-  10 
ably  not  be  duplicated  in  the  city)  has  been  published  in 
the  metropolitan  press;  it  states  affirmatively  that  the 
present  law  is  adequate.  Medical  authority  of  the  high- 
est rank  has  pointed  out  that  the  prescribing  in  advance 
of  the  class  of  cases  in  which  anaesthetics  must  be  used,  15 
the  class  of  cases  in  which  animals  must  be  killed  after 
operations,  and  the  formal  publication  of  reports,  would 
frustrate  the  purposes  of  important  experiments  fraught 
with  untold  benefit  to  humanity.  Dr.  Curtis,  as  Secre- 
tary of  the  Committee  on  Experimental  Medicine  of  the  20 
Medical  Society  of  the  State  of  New  York,  declares  that 
one  of  these  bills  "would  abolish,  in  three  lines  of  print, 
the  sciences  of  physiology,  pathology,  pharmacology, 
and  much  of  practical  medicine  and  surgery,  within  the 
State  of  New  York,"  and  that  even  according  to  the  less  25 
drastic  of  the  two  bills,  if  it  had  been  law,  "  certain  fun- 
damental physiological  facts,  which  form  part  of  the 
scientific  basis  of  medicine,  could  not  lawfully  have  been 
discovered."  Of  the  two  measures  to  which  our  corre- 


Assumptions  are  not  Proof  203 

spondent  refers,  the  English  law,  according  to  so  emi- 
nent and  humane  a  leader  as  Sir  Lauder  Brunton,  "has 
interfered  to  an  enormous  extent  with  physiologic  work," 
so  that  investigators  have  had  to  go  to  Paris  and  else- 
where to  perform  important  experiments  —  and  with  5 
this  testimony  that  of  such  men  as  Lord  Lister  and  Sir 
Michael  Foster  agrees;  and  the  bill  introduced  into 
Congress  somewhat  over  five  years  ago  by  Senator  Gal- 
linger  would  have  had,  if  it  had  passed,  a  very  harmful 
effect.  10 

The  cruel  man,  callous  to  the  suffering  of  either  his 
fellow  human  beings  or  his  fellow-creatures  of  the  brute 
creation,  belongs  to  the  lowest  orders  of  humanity. 
Around  such  a  man  the  law  should  put  inflexible  bands 
of  restraint.  The  Outlook  honors  those  who  desire  to  15 
alleviate  the  sufferings  of  animals  as  well  as  of  men. 
But  there  are  times  when  the  infliction  of  suffering  is 
not  cruelty  but  mercy.  It  is  because  the  Outlook  is 
convinced  by  overwhelming  evidence  that  the  practice 
of  vivisection  has  not  increased  suffering  but  has  rather  20 
widened  immeasurably  the  merciful  ministrations  of 
medicine  and  surgery  that  it  regards  as  dangerous  unin- 
telligent interference  with  vivisection,  and  urges  the 
maintenance  of  the  principle  underlying  the  present 
New  York  law.  25 

Altogether  apart  from  the  motives  of  those  who  are 
pressing  for  new  legislation,  the  two  anti- vivisection  bills 
now  before  the  New  York  Legislature  are  contrary  to 
public  policy  and  ought  to  be  decisively  defeated. 


OBJECTIONS   TO    A   POSTAL   SAVINGS 
BANK1 

GEORGE  E.  ROBERTS 

THE  sentiment  in  favor  of  a  Postal  Savings  system  is 
prompted  by  a  most  commendable  desire  to  furnish  ab- 
solute security  for  the  small  depositor,  who,  by  resolution 
and  self-denial,  has  laid  up  something  against  old  age 
or  a  rainy  day.  The  interest  of  the  State  and  com-  5 
munity  in  such  accumulations  is  perfectly  apparent,  and 
the  importance  of  having  in  every  locality  convenient 
and  absolutely  safe  depositaries  for  them  is  too  evident 
to  require  lengthy  argument.  There  is  scarcely  any 
experience  through  which  a  community  can  pass  that  is  10 
more  distressing  and  disheartening  than  the  failure  of  a 
bank  which  involves  wiping  out  the  painfully  won  sav- 
ings upon  which  hundreds  of  men  and  Women  are  rely- 
ing for  the  needs  of  old  age.  There  is  scarcely  another 
service  which  modern  society  can  render  to  the  masses  15 
that  is  more  helpful  and  stimulating  than  this  of 
encouraging  and  safeguarding  small  savings. 

It  does  not,  however,  follow  that,  in  the  United  States, 
the  Federal  Government  is  the  agency  best  qualified  to 

1  Reprinted  by  permission  from  The  North  American  Review. 
204 


Objections  to  a  Postal  Savings  Bank        205 

assume  this  task.  The  idea  of  a  savings  bank  in  the 
Post  Office  Department  comes  to  us  from  Europe,  and 
it  has  not  been  closely  scrutinized  as  to  its  adaptability 
to  conditions  here.  It  has  three  features  which  com- 
mend it  —  to  wit :  cheapness  of  administration,  the  con-  5 
venience  to  the  public  of  an  office  in  each  post  office 
and  the  security  of  the  Government  obligation.  For 
European  countries  there  is  another  consideration,  viz. : 
it  furnishes  a  large  market  for  Government  loans. 
There  are  reasons  why  the  Postal  Savings  Bank  is  not  10 
as  suitable  an  institution  for  the  United  States  as  for 
Great  Britain,  or  for  the  other  countries  where  it  has 
worked  successfully.  These  reasons  have  their  basis 
mainly  in  the  territorial  extent  of  this  country  and  the 
differences  that  exist  in  the  wealth  and  industrial  devel-  15 
opment  of  its  various  sections.  The  injury  that  would 
result  to  this  country  from  having  a  considerable  portion 
of  its  capital  drained  from  the  outlying  districts  to  a  cen- 
ter, for  investment  in  a  limited  line  of  securities,  is  de- 
serving of  very  serious  consideration.  Great  Britain  is  a  20 
small  country  compared  with  the  United  States,  and  every 
part  of  it,  besides  being  reasonably  well  supplied  with 
local  capital,  is  not  far  distant  from  the  financial  me- 
tropolis; but  the  disadvantage  of  the  withdrawal  of 
savings  deposits  from  local  use  is  observed  even  there.  25 
The  London  Bankers'  Magazine  for  February,  1899, 
discussing  the  comparative  services  in  a  community  of 
a  branch  office  of  the  postal  bank  and  a  branch  office 
of  one  of  the  great  commercial  banks,  says :  — 


206  Arguments 

The  branches  of  the  Post  Office  Savings  Bank  convey  all  the 
savings  of  the  district  which  they  receive  straight  up  to  the  cen- 
tral office  in  London.  This  money  is  employed  there  in  purchases 
of  the  public  funds  of  the  country;  it  is  thus  removed  from  the 
district  in  which  it  originates,  and  incidentally  assists  in  raising  5 
the  price  of  the  funds  to  so  high  a  point  that  the  Postmaster-Gen- 
eral is  unable  to  invest  the  amount  collected  on  such  terms  as  to 
obtain  back  the  interest  which  he  covenants  to  allow  his  deposi- 
tors, and  to  obtain  also  a  sufficient  margin  to  meet  the  working 
expenses.  10 

The  deposits  in  the  Post  Office  Savings  Banks  thus  eventually 
cause  an  expense  to  the  country.  There  was  a  deficiency  in  the 
Savings  Bank  Funds  last  year  which  had  to  be  made  up  out  of 
the  public  taxation.  The  deposits  in  the  branch  of  a  bank  in  a 
small  town  or  village  are,  on  the  other  hand,  a  source  of  gain  to  15 
the  country;  they  are  of  great  service  in  developing  the  trade  of 
the  place  in  which  the  bank  exists,  and  in  assisting  the  inhabitants 
in  their  business.  The  habit  of  keeping  an  account  with  a  bank 
is  now  general  even  among  very  small  traders,  and  in  very  remote 
districts.  This  habit  could  scarcely  exist  were  it  not  for  the  exist-  20 
ence  of  branch  banking  offices.  Any  one  engaged  in  business 
can  scarcely  keep  his  account  at  a  place  very  distant  from  the  lo- 
cality in  which  his  business  is  carried  on.  There  are  so  many 
occasions  on  which  any  one  carrying  on  a  really  active  business 
has  to  refer  to  his  banker,  and  when  a  personal  interview  is  con-  25 
venient  if  not  essential,  that  proximity  is  most  desirable.  Other 
results,  also  affecting  the  economic  development  of  the  country, 
follow.  The  advantages  of  the  use  of  '  credit/  that  most  powerful 
factor  in  the  growth  of  trade  and  industry,  are  extended  to  dwell- 
ers in  the  most  remote  districts.  With  proper  precautions  and  30 
care  in  making  advances,  great  advantages  to  the  country  districts 
result.  Minor,  but  not  unimportant,  advantages  follow;  the  use 
of  specie  and  of  notes  is  economized,  while  the  trade  of  the  country 
is  increasingly  carried  on  by  means  of  checks.  None  of  these 


Objections  to  a  Postal  Savings  Bank        207 

advantages  take  place  in  the  case  of  the  opening  of  a  new  branch 
of  the  Post  Office  Savings  Bank.  They  are  mentioned  here  as 
they  sometimes  escape  the  attention  of  our  public  men,  even  of 
those  acquainted  with  other  descriptions  of  business.  They 
think  merely  of  the  savings  banks  as  showing  the  power  of  the  5 
country  to  put  by  and  save,  and  they  do  not  think  of  the  other 
side  of  the  picture. 

The  Postal  Savings  deposits,  at  all  offices  throughout 
the  British  system,  are  sent  up  to  the  central  office  in 
London  and  invested  in  British  consols ;  and  complaint  10 
is  above  made  that  the  constant  purchases  for  the  Postal 
Bank  had,  in  1899,  forced  up  the  price  of  the  consols  and 
made  the  return  on  the  investment  so  low  that  the  Bank 
was  running  behind.     Since  then  the  British  Govern- 
ment has  been  forced  to  issue  many  millions  of  new  15 
obligations,  and  the  price  of  consols  has  fallen  so  that 
the  situation  of  the  Bank,  as  respects  income  on  recent 
purchases,    has    improved.     Nevertheless,    the    state- 
ment is  instructive  as  showing  the  natural  effect  of 
gathering  funds  from  all  over  a  country  for  investment  20 
in  a  restricted  class  of  securities. 

Below  is  an  extract  from  the  London  Statist  of 
December  22,  1906,  in  which  are  described  the  ill  effects 
upon  the  industries  of  Ireland  resulting  from  the  con- 
stant drain  of  Postal  Savings  deposits  to  London.  If  25 
these  deposits  had  been  made  in  local  savings  banks, 
and  invested  locally,  they  would  have  contributed  to  the 
development  of  Ireland's  resources  and  the  employ- 
ment of  the  Irish  people,  instead  of  being  tied  up  in 
consols.  The  Statist  says :  —  30 


208  Arguments 

Ireland  is  a  very  poor  country.  Her  resources  are  quite  un- 
developed. Practically,  it  is  hardly  an  exaggeration  to  say  that 
she  has  not  yet  entered  upon  an  economic  life.  .  .  .  Naturally, 
therefore,  she  requires  abundant  capital  and  abundant  labor.  .  .  . 
In  June  of  the  present  year  the  Irish  deposits  in  the  Savings  Banks  5 
were  in  round  numbers,  13  millions  sterling,  and  this  (for  Ireland) 
very  large  sum  is  employed  not  in  developing  any  Irish  industry, 
but  in  bolstering  up  the  credit  of  the  United  Kingdom.  .  .  .  No- 
body will  dispute  that  the  Irishman  of  enterprise  is  seriously  handi- 
capped by  the  fact  that  so  much  Irish  money  is  drawn  away  from  10 
Irish  to  Imperial  purposes.  Just  as  Ireland  has  been  laying  out 
large  sums  annually  for  sixty-five  years  in  rearing  young  men  and 
women  to  export  them,  without  getting  any  return,  to  the  United 
States  and  the  Colonies,  to  create  there  vast  wealth,  so  in  finance 
Ireland  is  pinching  and  saving  about  13  millions  of  money  to  ex-  15 
port  it  to  London  for  the  purpose  of  bolstering  up  an  amateurish 
system  of  finance,  which  has  brought  the  national  credit  to  the 
pitch  at  which  we  see  it. 

What  would  be  the  result  of  opening  a  savings  bank 
in  connection  with  every  post  office  in  the  United  States,  20 
and  of  remitting  all  the  deposits  to  Washington  for 
investment  in  a  limited  list  of  securities?     In  the  first 
place,  what  would  be  the  effect  upon  the  communities 
from  which  these  moneys  were  withdrawn?     The  last 
report  of  the  Comptroller  of  the  Currency  shows  the  25 
amount  of  deposits  in  savings  banks  at  that  time  to  have 
been  over  $3,000,000,000.     Of  course  there  is  no  proba- 
bility that  all  of  this  money  would  be  transferred  to  the 
Postal  Savings  Banks;    but,  on  the  other  hand,  there 
are  many  deposits  in  national  and  State  banks,  and  with  30 
trust  companies  and  other  institutions,   which  might 


Objections  to  a  Postal  Savings  Bank       209 

be  attracted  to  the  Government's  strong  box.  The 
extent  of  the  displacement  would,  doubtless,  depend 
somewhat  upon  the  rate  of  interest  paid,  and  there  would 
be  some  danger  of  that  being  more  or  less  involved  in 
politics,  reluctance  to  reduce  the  rate  being  shown  in  5 
England  where  the  system  has  an  annual  deficit.  If  we 
believe  that  the  system  would  meet  a  general  need,  we 
must  assume  that  it  would  draw  a  large  sum  in  the  ag- 
gregate. This  money  is  now  invested  locally.  It  is  an 
important  part  of  the  capital  upon  which  each  commu-  10 
nity  is  doing  business.  It  is  loaned  largely  upon  real 
estate  mortgages,  partly  upon  personal  security,  it  is 
partly  invested  in  local  bonds  or  real  estate.  It  is  being 
used  in  the  locality  where  it  is  owned  and  contributing 
to  the  development  of  that  locality,  the  support  of  its  15 
industries  and  the  employment  of  its  people.  If  this 
capital  is  removed  to  Washington  for  investment,  what 
will  be  the  effect  upon  the  communities  from  which  it  is 
taken  ? 

The  authorities  at  Washington  cannot  redistribute  20 
this  capital  by  investments  to  the  same  sections  from 
which  it  came.     The  discretion  allowed  any  board  of 
managers  in  the  investment  of  such  funds  would  un- 
doubtedly  be   quite    restricted.     Government    bonds, 
State  bonds  and  municipal  bonds  would  probably  con-  25 
stitute  the  list.     Perhaps  railway  bonds  would  have  to 
be  included;  but  the  making  up  of  a  list  of  eligible 
railway  bonds  would  be  a  delicate  task.     In  brief,  the 
investments  of  the  Postal  Savings  Bank  would  be  in 


2io  Arguments 

securities  of  a  high  class,  which  yield  a  low  return,  and 
which  now  find  a  market  only  in  the  wealthier  sections 
of  the  country,  among  people  who  are  not  so  much  in- 
terested in  the  interest  rate  as  in  the  security  of  the 
principal.     It  is  not  likely  that  any  savings  bank  in  a    5 
State  like  Iowa  has  to-day  a  dollar  of  investments  that 
would  be  accepted  by  a  Postal  Savings  Bank.     There 
are  bond  issues  in  Iowa  that  the  latter  institution  might 
accept,  but  they  are  of  such  a  high  class,  the  competition 
for  them  from  outside  the  State  is  so  keen  and  the  re-  10 
turns  from  them  so  low  that  banks  within  the  State  can 
do  better  in  investments  of  a  more  local  character. 
Capital  owned  in  Iowa  is  not  at  present  invested  in  low 
interest-bearing  securities.    It  is  likely,  therefore,  that 
all  the  deposits  diverted  from  Iowa  banks  to  the  Postal  15 
Savings  Bank  would  be  so  much  capital  lost  to  that 
State  while  on  deposit.     It  would  be  brought  down  to 
the  already  congested  money  markets  of  the  East,  to 
multiply  the  demand  for  the  limited  supply  of  choice 
securities  that  have  a  national  and  international  market.  20 
The  result  must  be  an  economic  loss  to  the  country ;  for 
capital  is  transferred  from  where  it  is  most  needed  to 
where  it  is  least  needed.     To  the  extent  in  which  this 
transfer  occurred  —  that  is,  to  the  extent  in  which  the 
system  became  popular  and   effective  —  its  influence  25 
would  be  to  reduce  the  earnings  of  these  savings,  widen 
the  difference  in  interest  rates  between  different  sections 
of  the  country,  retard  the  distribution  of  industries  and 
population  and  check  the  development  of  the  country. 


Objections  to  a  Postal  Savings  Bank        211 

The  question  is,  Is  it  necessary  to  bring  about  these 
undesirable  effects  in  order  to  accomplish  the  end  sought, 
viz. :  the  security  of  the  small  depositor  ?  Let  it  be  agreed 
that  he  should  have  complete  protection.  Can  it  not  be 
provided  without  the  forced  removal  of  this  capital  from  5 
the  locality  to  which  it  belongs,  where  perhaps  it  is 
affording  employment  to  its  owners,  and  where  it  can 
be  utilized  most  advantageously  to  all  concerned  ? 

There  are  industries  and  lines  of  enterprise  which  can 
be  advantageously  centralized,  but  the  investment  of  10 
great  sums  of  popular  deposits  cannot.  These  invest- 
ments should  follow  natural  channels,  with  only  such 
restrictions  as  are  necessary  to  obtain  safety.  There 
should  be  no  enforced  removal  of  funds  that  can  be 
avoided.  With  capable  managers  who  are  familiar  with  15 
the  values  of  real  estate  in  their  own  neighborhoods  and 
with  all  local  conditions,  local  institutions  can  invest 
these  deposits  safely,  and  much  more  serviceably  to  the 
whole  country  than  any  central  board  at  Washington  can 
do  it.  Granted  that  reform  in  banking  laws  and  methods  20 
is  needed,  let  financiers  and  social  reformers  direct 
their  aims  to  securing  a  reform  that  is  consistent  with 
the  most  effective  use  of  our  capital,  and  that  will  pro- 
mote rather  than  retard  the  harmonious  development 
of  all  sections  of  the  country.  25 

It  will  be  a  very  weak  and  unscientific  treatment  of 
the  problem  in  hand  to  consider  only  the  sentimental 
phase  and  dispose  of  the  whole  matter  by  unloading  it  on 
the  Federal  Government,  the  one  political  organization 


212  Arguments 

of  all  least  qualified  to  deal  with  it.  This  is  one  of 
our  problems,  and  not  the  only  one,  which  our  people 
should  deal  with  at  home,  instead  of  petitioning  for  relief 
from  afar. 

Several  States  have  already  shown  how  the  subject    5 
may  be  dealt  with  successfully.     New  York,  Massa- 
chusetts and  Connecticut  have  mutual  savings  banks, 
conducted  wholly  for  the  benefit  of  depositors,  and  so 
well  safeguarded  that  no  serious  losses  have  occurred  for 
many  years.     All  of  the  earnings,  after  expenses  are  10 
paid  and  a  surplus  fund  has  been  accumulated,  are  dis- 
tributed in  dividends  to  the  depositors.     Most  of  these 
banks  are  now  earning  4  per  cent  for  the  depositors. 
On  July  i,  1906,  there  were  134  savings  banks  in  the 
State  of  New  York,  holding  $1,335,093,053.62.     The  15 
only  losses  that  have  been  suffered  by  savings-bank 
depositors  in  that  State  in  the  twenty-eight  years  since 
January,  1879,  have  been  due  to  the  scaling  of  deposits 
in  five  banks,  by  order  of  the   Courts,  to  make  good 
losses  that  had  been  sustained  in  two  cases  by  the  dis-  20 
honesty  of  employees,  in  two  cases  by  the  failure  of  na- 
tional banks  in  which  funds  were  on  deposit  and  in  one 
case  by  bad  loans.     The  cases  in  which  losses  occurred 
were  as  follows :  — 

i.   Ulster  County  Savings  Institution.     Defalcation  discovered  25 
in  1891.     Deposits  were  scaled  15  per  cent.     The  bank  is  still  in 
business  and  prosperous;  on  July  i,  1906,  it  held  deposits  aggre- 
gating $3,284,554.92,  had  a  surplus  of  $138,672. 39,  and  it  paid 
dividends  to  depositors  in  1906  at  the  rate  of  3j  per  cent. 


Objections  to  a  Postal  Savings  Bank        213 

2.  National   Savings   Bank,    Buffalo.     Defalcation   in    1892. 
Deposits  were  scaled  22  per  cent  and  bank  reorganized  as  Em- 
pire State  Savings  Bank.     Went  out  of  business  in  1902,  and  the 
Superintendent  of  Banks  reports  that  there  may  be  a  further  loss 

of  2  or  3  per  cent.  5 

3.  Southern  Tier  Savings  Bank,  a  small  institution  (afterwards 
Elmira  Savings  Bank).     Suffered  a  loss  in  1893  by  the  closing  of 
a  national  bank  in  which  it  had  a  deposit  of  $42,704.67.     Deposits 
were  scaled  20  per  cent.     The  business  after  that  date  was  kept 
separate  from  the  old,  and  the  bank  is  now  prosperous,  paying  10 
dividends  in  1906  at  the  rate  of  3^  per  cent.     Some  further  dis- 
tribution will  be  made  on  the  old  loss. 

4.  Chenango  Valley  Savings  Bank.     Found  to  be  insolvent 
in  1895.     Deposits  were  scaled  about  15  per  cent.     The  bank 
continues  in  business  and  paid  dividends   in    1906   of   3    per  15 
cent. 

5.  Carthage  Savings  Bank.     Dragged  down  in  1898  by  failure 
of  a  national  bank  with  which  it  had  a  deposit.     Has  paid  95  per 
cent  of  its  deposits. 

It  will  be  seen  that  the  Carthage  case,  in  which  there  20 
was  a  loss  of    5   per  cent,  is  the  only  one  which  oc- 
curred within  the  last  ten  years.     The  entire  showing  for 
the  system  under  the  present  law  is  an  encouraging  one. 

The   Massachusetts   and    Connecticut   systems   are 
similar  to  that  of  New  York.     The  savings  banks  in  25 
these  three  States,  to  use  the  language  of  Mr.  Jay,  of 
Massachusetts,  describing  those  of  his  own  State,  "have 
no  paid-up  capital ;  they  are  not  banks  at  all,  but  mutual 
investment   associations,   the   depositors   paying   their 
deposits  to  the  trustees,  who  invest  the  money  and  de-  30 
clare  in  dividends  to  the  depositors  substantially  all  that 


214  Arguments 

they  are  able  to  earn  on  the  money.    The  balance  goes 
to  form  a  surplus  or  guaranty  fund." 

No  system  can  be  pronounced  perfect  so  long  as  losses 
occur;  but,  when  the  advantages  of  higher  returns  to 
depositors  and  employment  of  the  moneys  at  home  are  5 
considered,  there  is  no  reason  why  the  people  of  either 
of  these  States  should  want  to  exchange  their  system  for 
a  Postal  Savings  Bank.  They  will  do  better  by  holding 
to  what  they  have  and  remedying  existing  defects.  Not 
only  will  it  be  better  for  depositors  and  the  communities  10 
financially,  but  it  is  not  to  be  forgotten  that  self-help  is 
always  to  be  preferred  to  outside  aid  or  control.  What 
a  State  or  local  community  can  do  for  itself  it  should 
not  want  the  United  States  Government  to  meddle  with. 
Those  functions  of  organized  society  which  may  be  per-  15 
formed  by  local  associations  are  part  of  the  social  life  of 
the  people,  and  they  ought  to  participate  in  them.  The 
experience  thus  acquired  has  an  educational  value,  help- 
ing to  qualify  the  body  of  the  people  for  other  and  larger 
undertakings  of  a  cooperative  character.  20 


THE  TRAINING    OF   INTELLECT1 
WOODROW  WILSON 

MR.  TOASTMASTER,  MR.  PRESIDENT,  AND  GENTLE- 
MEN :  —  I  must  confess  to  you  that  I  came  here  with 
very  serious  thoughts  this  evening,  because  I  have 
been  laboring  under  the  conviction  for  a  long  time  that 
the  object  of  a  university  is  to  educate,  and  I  have  not  5 
seen  the  universities  of  this  country  achieving  any  re- 
markable or  disturbing  success  in  that  direction.  I  have 
found  everywhere  the  note  which  I  must  say  I  have 
heard  sounded  once  or  twice  to-night  —  a  note  of  apology 
for  the  intellectual  side  of  the  university.  You  hear  it  10 
at  all  universities.  Learning  is  on  the  defensive,  is 
actually  on  the  defensive,  among  college  men,  and  they 
are  being  asked  by  way  of  concession  to  bring  that  also 
into  the  circle  of  their  interests.  Is  it  not  time  we 
stopped  asking  indulgence  for  learning  and  proclaimed  15 
its  sovereignty  ?  Is  it  not  time  we  reminded  the  college 
men  of  this  country  that  they  have  no  right  to  any  dis- 
tinctive place  in  any  community,  unless  they  can  show 
it  by  intellectual  achievement?  that  if  a  university  is 
a  place  for  distinction  at  all  it  must  be  distinguished  by  20 
the  conquests  of  the  mind?  I  for  my  part  tell  you 
plainly  that  that  is  my  motto,  that  I  have  entered  the 

1  An  address  before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society  of  Yale  University. 

215 


216  Arguments 

field  to  fight  for  that  thesis,  and  that  for  that  thesis  only 
do  I  care  to  fight. 

The  toastmaster  of  the  evening  said,  and  said  truly, 
that  this  is  the  season  when,  for  me,  it  was  most  difficult 
to  break  away  from  regular  engagements  in  which  I  am  5 
involved  at  home.  But  when  I  was  invited  to  a  Phi 
Beta  Kappa  banquet  it  had  an  unusual  sound,  and  I  felt 
that  that  was  the  particular  kind  of  invitation  which  it 
was  my  duty  and  privilege  to  accept.  One  of  the  prob- 
lems of  the  American  university  now  is  how,  among  a  10 
great  many  other  competing  interests,  to  give  places  of 
distinction  to  men  who  win  distinction  in  the  class  room. 
Why  don't  we  give  you  men  the  Y  here  and  the  P  at 
Princeton,  because,  after  all,  you  have  done  the  par- 
ticular thing  which  distinguishes  Yale  or  Princeton?  15 
Not  that  these  other  things  are  not  worth  doing,  but  they 
may  be  done  anywhere.  They  may  be  done  in  athletic 
clubs  where  there  is  no  study,  but  this  thing  can  be  done 
only  here.  This  is  the  distinctive  mark  of  the  place. 

A  good  many  year?  ago,  just  two  weeks  before  the  mid-  20 
year  examinations,  the  faculty  of  Princeton  was  foolish 
enough  to  permit  a  very  unwise  evangelist  to  come  to 
the  place  and  to  upset  the  town.     And  while  an  assisting 
undergraduate  was  going  from  room  to  room  one  under- 
graduate secured  his  door  and  put  this  notice  out,  "I  am  25 
a  Christian  and  am  studying  for  examinations."     Now 
I  want  to  say  that  that  is  exactly  .what  a  Christian  under- 
graduate would  be  doing  at  that  time  of  the  year.     He 
would  not  be  attending  religious  meetings,  no  matter 


The  Training  of  Intellect  217 

how  beneficial  it  would  be  to  him.  He  would  be  study- 
ing for  examinations,  not  merely  for  the  purpose  of 
passing  them,  but  from  his  sense  of  duty. 

We  get  a  good  many  men  at  Princeton  from  certain 
secondary  schools  which  say  a  great  deal  about  their    5 
earnest  desire  to  cultivate  character  among  their  students, 
and  I  hear  a  great  deal  about  character  being  the  object 
of  education.     I  take  leave  to  believe  that  a  man  who 
cultivates  his  character  consciously  will  cultivate  nothing 
except  what  will  make  him  intolerable  to  his  fellow-men.  10 
If  your  object  in  life  is  to  make  a  fine  fellow  of  yourself, 
you  will  not  succeed,  and  you  will  not  be  acceptable  to 
really  fine  fellows.     Character,  gentlemen,  is  a  by-prod- 
duct.     It  comes,  whether  you  will  or  not,  as  a  conse- 
quence of  a  life  devoted  to  the  nearest  duty,  and  the  15 
place  in  which  character  would  be  cultivated,  if  it  be  a 
place  of  study,  is  a  place  where  study  is  the  object  and 
character  the  result. 

Not  long  ago  a  gentleman  approached  me  in  great 
excitement  just  after  the  entrance  examinations.  He  20 
said  we  had  made  a  great  mistake  in  not  taking  so  and 
so  from  a  certain  school  which  he  named.  "But/'  I 
said,  "he  did  not  pass  the  entrance  examinations."  He 
went  over  the  boy's  moral  excellencies  again.  "  Pardon 
me,"  I  said,  "you  do  not  understand.  He  did  not  pass  25 
the  entrance  examinations.  "Now,"  I  said,  "I  want 
you  to  understand  that  if  the  Angel  Gabriel  applied  for 
admission  to  Princeton  University  and  could  not  pass 
the  entrance  examinations,  he  would  not  be  admitted. 


2i8  Arguments 

He  would  be  wasting  his  time."  It  seemed  a  new  idea 
to  him.  This  boy  had  come  from  a  school  which  culti- 
vated character,  and  he  was  a  nice,  lovable  fellow  with  a 
presentable  character.  Therefore,  he  ought  to  be  ad- 
mitted to  any  university.  I  fail  to  see  it  from  this  point  of  5 
view,  for  a  university  is  an  institution  of  purpose.  We 
have  in  some  previous  years  had  pity  for  young  gentle- 
men who  were  not  sufficiently  acquainted  with  the  ele- 
ments of  a  preparatory  course.  They  have  been  dropped 
at  the  examinations,  and  I  have  always  felt  that  we  have  10 
been  guilty  of  an  offense,  and  have  made  their  parents 
spend  money  to  no  avail  and  the  youngsters  spend  their 
time  to  no  avail.  And  so  I  think  that  all  university  men 
ought  to  rouse  themselves  now  and  understand  what  is 
the  object  of  a  university.  The  object  of  a  university  15 
is  intellect;  as  a  university  its  only  object  is  intellect. 
As  a  body  of  young  men  there  ought  to  be  other  things, 
there  ought  to  be  diversions  to  release  them  from  the 
constant  strain  of  effort,  there  ought  to  be  things  that 
gladden  the  heart  and  moments  of  leisure,  but  as  a  uni-  20 
versity  the  only  object  is  intellect. 

The  reason  why  I  chose  the  subject  that  I  am  per- 
mitted to  speak  upon  to-night  —  the  function  of  scholar- 
ship —  was  that  I  wanted  to  point  out  the  function  of 
scholarship  not  merely  in  the  university  but  in  the  nation.  25 
In  a  country  constituted  as  ours  is  the  relation  in  which 
education  stands  is  a  very  important  one.  Our  whole 
theory  has  been  based  upon  an  enltghtened  citizenship 
and  therefore  the  function  of  scholarship  must  be  for  the 


The  Training  of  Intellect  219 

nation  as  well  as  for  the  university  itself.  I  mean  the 
function  of  such  scholarship  as  undergraduates  get. 
That  is  not  a  violent  amount  in  any  case.  You  cannot 
make  a  scholar  of  a  man,  except  by  some  largess  of 
Providence  in  his  make-up,  by  the  time  he  is  twenty-  5 
one  or  twenty-two  years  of  age.  There  have  been 
gentlemen  who  have  made  a  reputation  by  twenty-one 
or  twenty-two,  but  it  is  generally  in  some  little  province 
of  knowledge,  so  small  that  a  small  effort  can  conquer  it. 
You  do  not  make  scholars  by  that  time,  you  do  not  often  10 
make  scholars  by  seventy  that  are  worth  boasting  of. 
The  process  of  scholarship,  so  far  as  the  real  scholar  is  con- 
cerned, is  an  unending  process,  and  knowledge  is  pushed 
forward  only  a  very  little  by  his  best  efforts.  It  is  evi- 
dent, of  course,  that  the  most  you  can  contribute  to  a  15 
man  in  his  undergraduate  years  is  not  equipment  in  the 
exact  knowledge  which  is  characteristic  of  the  scholar, 
but  the  inspiration  of  the  spirit  of  scholarship.  The 
most  that  you  can  give  a  youngster  is  the  spirit  of  the 
scholar.  20 

Now  the  spirit  of  the  scholar  in  a  country  like  ours 
must  be  a  spirit  related  to  the  national  life.  It  cannot, 
therefore,  be  a  spirit  of  pedantry.  I  suppose  that  it  is  a 
sufficient  working  conception  of  pedantry  to  say  that  it  is 
knowledge  divorced  from  life.  It  is  knowledge  so  closeted,  25 
so  desecrated,  so  stripped  of  the  significances  of  life  itself, 
that  it  is  a  thing  apart  and  not  connected  with  the  vital 
processes  in  the  world  about  us. 

There  is  a  great  place  in  every  nation  for  the  spirit  of 


22O  Arguments 

scholarship,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  there  never  was  a 
time  when  the  spirit  of  scholarship  was  more  needed  in 
affairs  than  it  is  in  this  country  at  this  time. 

We  are  thinking  just  now  with  our  emotions  and  not 
with  our  minds,  we  are  moved  by  impulse  and  not  by    5 
judgment.     We  are  drawing  away  from  things  with 
blind  antipathy.     The  spirit  of  knowledge  is  that  you 
must    base   your   conclusions   on    adequate   grounds. 
Make  sure  that  you  are  going  to  the  real  sources  of 
knowledge,  discovering  what  the  real  facts  are  before  you  10 
move  forward  to  the  next  process,  which  is  the  process 
of  clear  thinking.     By  clear  thinking  I  do  not  mean 
logical  thinking.     I  do  not  mean  that   life  is  based 
upon  any  logical  system  whatever.     Life  is  essentially 
illogical.     The  world  is  governed  now  by  a  tumultuous  15 
house  of  commons  made  up  of  the  passions,  and  we 
should  pray  God  that  the  good  passions  should  outvote 
the  bad  passions.     But  the  movement  of  impulse,  of 
motive,  is  the  stuff  of  passion,  and  therefore  clear  think- 
ing about  life  is  not  logical,  symmetrical  thinking,  but  20 
it  is  interpretative  thinking,  thinking  that  sees  the  secret 
motive  of  things,  thinking  that  penetrates  deep  places 
where  are  the  pulses  of  life. 

Now  scholarship  ought  to  lay  these  impulses  bare 
just  as  the  physician  can  lay  bare  the  seat  of  life  in  our  25 
bodies.  That  is  not  scholarship  which  goes  to  work 
upon  the  mere  formal  pedantry  of  logical  reasoning,  but 
that  is  scholarship  which  searches  forthe  heart  of  a  man. 
The  spirit  of  scholarship  gives  us  catholicity  of  thinking, 


The  Training  of  Intellect  221 

the  readiness  to  understand  that  there  will  constantly 
swing  into  our  ken  new  items  not  dreamed  of  in  our 
philosophy;  not  simply  to  draw  our  conclusions  from 
the  data  that  we  have  had,  but  that  all  this  is  under 
constant  mutation,  and  that  therefore  new  phases  of  5 
life  will  come  upon  us  and  a  new  adjustment  of  our  con- 
clusions will  be  necessary.  Our  thinking  must  be  de- 
tached and  disinterested  thinking. 

The  particular  objection  that  I  have  to  the  under- 
graduate forming  his  course  of  study  on  his  future  pro-  10 
fession  is  this  —  that  from  start  to  finish,  from  the  time 
he  enters  the  university  until  he  finishes  his  career,  his 
thought  will  be  centered  upon  particular  interests.  He 
will  be  immersed  in  the  things  that  touch  his  profit  and 
loss,  and  a  man  is  not  free  to  think  inside  that  territory.  15 
If  his  bread  and  butter  is  going  to  be  affected,  if  he  is 
always  thinking  in  the  terms  of  his  own  profession ;  he 
is  not  thinking  for  the  nation.  He  is  thinking  of  himself, 
and  whether  he  be  conscious  of  it  or  not,  he  can  never 
throw  these  trammels  off.  He  will  only  think  as  a  doc-  20 
tor,  or  a  lawyer,  or  a  banker.  He  will  not  be  free  in  the 
world  of  knowledge  and  in  the  circle  of  interests  which 
make  up  the  great  citizenship  of  the  country.  It  is 
necessary  that  the  spirit  of  scholarship  should  be  a 
detached,  disinterested  spirit,  not  immersed  in  a  par-  25 
ticular  interest.  That  is  the  function  of  scholarship  in 
a  country  like  ours,  to  supply,  not  heat,  but  light,  to 
suffuse  things  with  the  calm  radiance  of  reason,  to  see 
to  it  that  men  do  not  act  hastily,  but  that  they  act  con- 


222  Arguments 

siderately,  that  they  obey  the  truth.  The  fault  of  our 
age  is  the  fault  of  hasty  action,  of  premature  judgments, 
of  a  preference  for  ill-considered  action  over  no  action 
at  all.  Men  who  insist  upon  standing  still  and  doing  a 
little  thinking  before  they  do  any  acting  are  called  re-  5 
actionaries.  They  want  actually  to  react  to  a  state  in 
which  they  can  be  allowed  to  think.  They  want  for  a 
little  while  to  withdraw  from  the  turmoil  of  party  con- 
troversy and  see  where  they  stand  before  they  commit 
themselves  and  their  country  to  action  from  which  it  10 
may  not  be  possible  to  withdraw. 

The  whole  fault  of  the  modern  age  is  that  it  applies 
to  everything  a  false  standard  of  efficiency.     Efficiency 
with  us  is  accomplishment,  whether  the  accomplish- 
ment be  by  just  and  well-considered  means  or  not ;  and  15 
this  standard  of  achievement  it  is  that  is  debasing  the 
morals  of  our  age,  the  intellectual  morals  of  our  age. 
We  do  not  stop  to  do  things  thoroughly ;  we  do  not  stop 
to  know  why  we  do  things.     We  see  an  error  and  we 
hastily  correct  it  by  a  greater  error ;  and  then  go  on  to  20 
cry  that  the  age  is  corrupt. 

And  so  it  is,  gentlemen,  that  I  try  to  join  the  function 
of  the  university  with  the  great  function  of  the  national 
life.  The  life  of  this  country  is  going  to  be  revolution- 
ized and  purified  only  when  the  universities  of  this  25 
country  wake  up  to  the  fact  that  their  only  reason  for 
existing  is  intellectual,  that  the  objects  that  I  have  set 
forth,  so  far  as  undergraduate  life  is~concerned,  are  the 
only  legitimate  objects.  And  every  man  should  crave 


The  Training  of  Intellect  223! 

for  his  university  primacy  in  these  things,  primacy  in 
other  things  also  if  they  may  be  brought  in  without 
enmity  to  it,  but  the  sacrifice  of  everything  that  stands 
in  the  way  of  these. 

For  my  part,  I  do  not  believe  that  it  is  athleticism    5 
which  stands  in  the  way.     Athletics  have  been  associ- 
ated with  the  achievements  of  the  mind  in  many  a  suc- 
cessful civilization.     There  is  no  difficulty  in  uniting 
vigor  of  body  with  achievement  of  mind,  but  there  is 
a  good  deal  of  difficulty  in  uniting  the  achievement  of  10 
the  mind  with  a  thousand  distracting  social  influences, 
which  take  up  all  our  ambitions,  which  absorb  all  our 
thoughts,  which  lead  to  all  our  arrangements  of  life,  and 
then  leave  the  university  authorities  the  residuum  of  our 
attention,  after  we  are  through  with  the  things  that  we  15 
are  interested  in.     We  absolutely  changed  the  whole 
course  of  study  at  Princeton  and  revolutionized  the 
methods  of  instruction  without  rousing  a  ripple  on  the 
surface  of  the  alumni.     They  said  those  things  were 
intellectual,  they  were  our  business.     But  just  as  soon  20 
as  we  thought  to  touch  the  social  part  of  the  university, 
there  was  not  only  a  ripple,  but  the  whole  body  was  torn 
to  its  depths.     We  had  touched  the  real  things.     These 
lay  in  triumphal  competition  with  the  province  of  the 
mind,  and  men's  attention  was  so  absolutely  absorbed  in  25 
these  things  that  it  was  impossible  for  us  to  get  their 
interest  enlisted  on  the  real  undertakings  of  the  univer- 
sity itself. 

Now  that  is  true  of  every  university  that  I  know  any- 


224  Arguments 

thing  about  in  this  country,  and  if  the  Faculties  in  this 
country  want  to  recapture  the  ground  that  they  have 
lost,  they  must  begin  pretty  soon,  and  they  must  go  into 
the  battle  with  their  bridges  burned  behind  them  so  that 
it  will  be  of  no  avail  to  retreat.  If  I  had  a  voice  to  which  5 
the  university  men  of  this  country  might  listen,  that  is 
the  endeavor  to  which  my  ambition  would  lead  me  to 
call. 


CHILD   LABOR   IN   THE   UNITED   STATES 
AND   ITS    GREAT   ATTENDANT   EVILS1 

FELIX  ADLER 

THERE  are  many  centenaries  that  have  received 
attention  of  late ;  there  is  one  that  has  been  almost  ig- 
nored, and  yet  it  well  deserved  to  be  remembered.  Two 
years  ago  a  hundred  years  had  elapsed  since  the  first 
act  was  passed  by  the  British  Parliament  to  abate  the  5 
evils  of  child  labor.  England  industrially  is  the  most 
advanced  country  in  the  world,  and  English  economic 
history  shows  the  good  and  evil  sides  of  industrial  civili- 
zation writ  large.  A  momentary  glance  at  the  condi- 
tions which  called  forth  the  Factory  Act  of  1802  and  10 
the  legislation  that  followed  will  serve  as  a  useful  intro- 
duction to  our  subject.  Briefly,  the  facts  were  these : 

The  pauper  children  of  London  workhouses  were 
being  fed  to  the  machine,  almost  as  the  children  in  the 
ancient  idolatry  were  fed  to  Moloch.     Pauper  children  15 
whom  nobody  owned,  deserted  waifs,  orphans  left  on  the 
parish  —  a  burden  on  the  ratepayers  —  were  sent  by 
hundreds  and  thousands  to  supply  the  demand  for  cheap 
labor  on  the  part  of  the  factories,  which  at  this  time 
were  everywhere  springing  up.     These  puny  laborers  20 
—  many  of  them  not  over  seven  years  of  age  —  were 

1  Reprinted  by  permission  of  the  National  Child  Labor  Association. 
Q  225 


226  Arguments 

worked  to  death.  But  that  hardly  mattered,  because 
the  workhouse  supply  was  sufficient  to  fill  up  the  de- 
pleted ranks.  The  workhouses  at  first  even  paid  a  small 
premium  to  the  manufacturers  for  taking  their  wards 
off  their  hands.  The  children  were  lodged  in  rough  5 
barracks,  were  cruelly  driven  by  their  taskmasters  while 
at  work,  their  food  was  of  the  worst  description,  they  were 
forced  to  labor  often  fourteen  hours,  and  they  were  deci- 
mated by  disease.  It  was  this  stage  of  things  that  pro- 
voked the  law  of  1802,  but  this  law  was  the  barest  be-  10 
ginning.  The  law  applied  only  to  pauper  children,  and 
it  was  soon  found  necessary  to  protect  children  also 
against  the  pitiless  egotism  or  the  desperation  of  their 
own  parents.  The  law  applied  only  to  certain  industries, 
and  it  was  found  necessary  to  extend  it  to  others.  With  15 
the  substitution  of  steam  for  water  power,  manufactories 
were  transferred  to  cities,  and  the  demand  for  cheap 
labor  grew  apace.  It  was  felt  that  an  age  limit  of  some 
kind  —  below  which  children  might  not  be  employed  — 
must  be  set.  The  efforts  to  do  so  were  strangely  hesi-  20 
tant  and  inadequate,  but  at  least  the  principle  of  an  age 
limit  came  to  be  recognized.  In  1833  it  was  estimated 
that  56,000  children  between  nine  and  thirteen  were 
employed  in  factories,  a  whole  army  of  child  workers ; 
but  nine  was  a  high  limit  compared  with  what  in  many  25 
branches  had  been  customary.  Before  the  Children's 
Employment  Committee  a  man  named  Apsden  testified. 
Pointing  to  his  boy,  he  said:  "This  boy  when  he  was 
seven  years  old,  in  winter  I  carried  on  my  shoulders 


Child  Labor  in  the  United  States  227 

across  the  snow  to  his  place  of  work,  and  he  would  work 
for  sixteen  hours."  What  a  picture;  the  man  rousing 
a  child  of  seven  from  his  sleep,  forcing  him  out  of  bed 
in  the  dark  winter  morning,  trudging  with  him  on  his 
back  across  the  snow,  and  depositing  the  little  fellow,  5 
seven  years  old,  to  work  for  sixteen  hours.  And  then 
another  picture,  for  he  adds :  "I  have  often  knelt  at  his 
side  and  given  him  food  while  he  was  working  because 
he  was  not  allowed  to  leave  the  machine."  If  you  wish 
to  realize  what  child  labor  means,  think  of  the  inmates  10 
of  London  workhouses  systematically  done  to  death 
in  the  Yorkshire  factories.  Think  of  Apsden  and  his 
seven-year-old  boy,  and  then  think  —  if  you  can  bear 
to  do  so  —  of  another  picture !  For  till  now  only  the 
factories  and  not  the  mines  had  been  touched.  In  the  15 
year  1842  evidence  was  taken  as  to  the  state  of  things  in 
the  coal  mines.  Children  began  their  work  in  the  mines 
sometimes  as  early  as  at  five  years  of  age.  Little  girls 
were  found  to  make  ten  or  twelve  trips  a  day  up  steep 
ladders  to  the  surface,  carrying  heavy  loads  of  coal  in  20 
wooden  buckets  on  their  shoulders.  For  the  develop- 
ment of  little  girls  into  womanhood,  what  an  admirable 
device !  Women  and  girls,  half  nude,  worked  side  by 
side  with  boys  and  men  wholly  so ;  every  consideration 
of  human  decency  was  flung  to  the  winds.  And  in  Mr.  25 
Cheyney's  book  on  "The  Industrial  History  of  Eng- 
land," which  usefully  summarizes  these  facts,  you  will 
find  a  picture  representing  a  woman  crawling  on  all 
fours,  dragging  through  a  passageway  about  two  feet 


228  Arguments 

high  a  car  containing  three  or  four  hundredweight  of 
coal  by  a  chain  attached  to  a  girdle  around  her  waist. 
And  this  is  described  as  a  common  form  of  labor.  This 
is  the  third  picture  which  I  would  ask  you  to  bear  in 
mind.  Progress  has  been  made  since  then ;  the  regula-  5 
tion  of  the  labor  of  women  and  children  —  with  the 
latter  alone  we  are  concerned  now  —  has  been  more 
and  more  extended,  though  the  task  is  not  yet  completed. 
The  problem  of  production  in  the  sweating  trades  has 
not  yet  been  solved,  and  there  are  still  other  problems  10 
to  be  met. 

And  now  I  wish  to  pause  a  moment  to  ask  a  question, 
for  it  is  not  my  purpose  at  this  time  to  dwell  on  the  hor- 
rors that  prevailed  in  the  past,  and  as  you  will  presently 
learn  prevail  amongst  us  to-day  to  no  inconsiderable  15 
extent,  any  more  than  I  can  help  for  the  purposes  of  the 
argument  and  the  plea  which  I  want  to  submit  to  you. 
But  I  do  want  to  ask  a  question  which  constantly  ob- 
trudes itself  on  my  mind:  How  is  it  that  members  of 
the  human  species  can  behave  with  such  cruelty  as  did  20 
the  mine  owners  who  employed  women  to  drag  coal 
cars,  creeping  on  hands  and  knees  with  a  chain  attached 
around  their  waist,  and  how  is  it  that  manufacturers 
can  be  so  merciless — I  suppose  many  of  them  had  chil- 
dren of  their  own,  and  must  have  known  what  a  tender  25 
thing  a  child  of  seven  years  is  —  as  to  drive  the  little 
Apsden  boy  and  his  fellows  for  sixteen  mortal  hours  in 
the  mill;  or  so  lost  to  all  respect  for  human  life  as  those 
employers  who  fed  the  workhouse  children  to  their 


Child  Labor  in  the  United  States  229 

machines  ?  I  take  no  comfort  in  denouncing  such  men, 
or  those  who  follow  in  their  footsteps  at  the  present  day. 
There  is  a  vulgar  proverb  that  he  who  cuts  off  his  nose 
disfigures  his  own  face.  These  persons  are  men  of  the 
same  human  species  as  ourselves ;  their  conduct  reflects  5 
dishonor  upon  us  all.  Are  we  then  still  so  brutal?  is 
the  belief  that  there  is  a  better  nature  latent  in  us 
merely  a  pleasant  fiction? 

Perhaps  an  explanation  is  possible  which  will  leave 
us  a  margin  of  hope  for  the  future.  It  appears  to  me  10 
that  periods  of  sudden  expansion  are  the  times  in  which 
the  greatest  moral  recklessness  is  exhibited  and  the 
ordinary  moral  scruples  are  most  apt  to  be  set  aside. 
This  thought  might  be  illustrated  by  the  history  of 
colonial  expansion,  of  military  expansion,  even  of  artis-  15 
tic  expansion  —  as  at  the  time  of  the  Renaissance;  but 
especially  by  the  history  of  industrial  expansion.  New 
machines  are  invented,  the  forces  of  nature,  such  as 
steam  and  electricity,  are  drafted  into  the  service  of  eco- 
nomic ends ;  new  markets  are  opened,  and  as  a  conse-  20 
quence  tens  of  thousands  of  energetic  men  see  opening 
before  them  the  opportunity  of  securing  riches.  In  the 
previous  comparatively  stationary  state  of  society  their 
energies  had  been  repressed;  small  gains,  slowly  accu- 
mulated by  much  labor  and  self-denial,  had  been  the  25 
rule;  the  number  of  very  wealthy  persons  before  the 
industrial  revolution  set  in  was  relatively  small.  But 
now,  as  a  result  of  the  new  conditions,  the  gates  of  oppor- 
tunity are  thrown  wide  open,  the  glittering  prize  dangles 


230  Arguments 

before  every  eye,  and  every  active  forward-pressing 
person  may  hope  to  secure  it.  He  who  looks  steadfastly 
and  continuously  at  some  burnished  object  like  a  metallic 
doorknob  will  presently  find  himself  hypnotized.  The 
same  is  true  in  the  case  of  brilliant  objects  of  endeavor  5 
that  stand  out  before  the  imagination.  And  the  essence 
of  this  hypnotic  effect  is  that  it  excludes  all  other  ob- 
jects or  ideas  from  the  mental  viewpoint,  and  this  it 
seems  to  me  explains  the  conduct  of  the  class  of  em- 
ployers and  mine  owners  to  whom  I  have  referred.  It  10 
was  gold,  the  unexpected  chance  of  securing  Aladdin's 
treasure,  that  riveted  their  attention,  that  hypnotized 
them.  The  cry  of  the  children  they  did  not  hear,  the 
degradation  of  women  they  did  not  see,  or  if  they  saw 
it,  it  made  no  impression  on  their  impervious  minds;  15 
the  social  evils  consequent  upon  their  predatory  conduct 
were  excluded  from  their  sphere  of  vision;  a  kind  of 
monomania  took  possession  of  them,  they  were  the  vic- 
tims of  a  fixed  idea.  The  periods  of  industrial  expan- 
sion are  peculiarly  fruitful  of  such  fixed  ideas,  and  they  20 
are  therefore  the  danger  points  in  the  development  of 
human  society.  But  what  is  the  hope?  The  hope  is 
that  the  results  of  such  a  reckless  course  of  action  will 
appear  to  the  eye  too  plainly  to  be  ignored;  that  the 
morally  sound  elements  in  the  community,  if  the  com-  25 
munity  be  still  sound  at  core,  will  take  alarm;  that  a 
powerful  reaction  will  set  in,  and  that  as  a  result  certain 
forms  of  industrial  iniquity  which  fed  previously  been 
overlooked  or  had  remained  unrecognized  will  be  stig- 


Child  Labor  in  the  United  States  231 

matized  and  forbidden;  and  that  the  general  moral 
standard  with  respect  to  the  evils  that  have  appeared 
will  be  definitely  raised  to  a  higher  point  than  it  had 
reached  before  those  evils  had  set  in.  This  is  the  hope ; 
it  is  founded  on  the  morally  sound  elements  in  the  com-  5 
munity  and  on  their  reaction ;  I  believe  that  in  Ameri- 
can communities  such  elements  still  abundantly  exist. 

But  it  is  of  child  labor  in  the  United  States  that  I  am 
to  speak,  and  here  again  I  shall  restrict  myself  to  a  few 
outstanding  facts  sufficient  to  establish  that  we  are  not  10 
fighting  windmills,  but  that  the  evils  which  so  earnestly 
challenge  a  remedy  are  widespread. 

At  the  beginning  of  1903  it  is  estimated  that  there 
were  in  the  factories  of  the  South  —  chiefly  cotton  fac- 
tories —  about  20,000  children  under  the  age  of  twelve.  15 
Twelve  is  a  very  early  age  at  which  to  begin  work ;  but 
under  the  age  of  twelve,  and  20,000,  and  in  the  United 
States  of  America  —  who  would  have  credited  it  ?  And 
these  children,  too,  not  the  children  of  foreign  immi- 
grants, but  for  the  most  part  the  offspring  of  the  purest  20 
American  stock  of  this  continent;  and  some  of  these 
children,  as  eye  witnesses  attest,  were  at  their  work  even 
more  than  twelve  hours,  as  much  as  thirteen  and  four- 
teen hours  a  day.  Where  are  our  instincts  of  mercy, 
where  is  the  motherliness  of  the  women  of  this  country,  25 
whither  is  the  chivalry  of  our  men  that  should  seek 
a  glory  in  protecting  the  defenseless  and  the  weak  ? 
Within  the  last  two  years  child-labor  laws  have  been 
passed  which  have  doubtless  reduced  the  number  of 


232  Arguments 

children  under  twelve  years  of  age  in  the  factories ;  how 
great  the  reduction  is,  it  is  impossible  to  say.  But  the 
South  is  by  no  means  singular,  though  it  has  of  late  been 
more  conspicuous  in  its  employment  of  child  labor  than 
other  sections  of  the  country.  And  there  is  no  excuse  for  5 
adopting  a  pharasaical  attitude  toward  the  southern  com- 
munities and  saying :  "  We  are  glad  that  we  are  not  like 
these."  For,  in  the  first  place,  in  not  a  few  instances  it 
is  northern  capital  invested  in  southern  mills  that  shares 
the  responsibility  for  the  conditions  named;  and  then  10 
again,  while  the  proportion  of  child  to  adult  labor  in  the 
South  is  greater  than  anywhere  else  in  the  country,  the 
absolute  number  of  children  employed  is  greater  in 
the  industrial  centers  of  the  North. 

The  lack  of  adequate  statistical  inquiries  makes  it  15 
impossible  to  express  in  figures  the  extent  of  the  evil  of 
child  labor.     But  wherever  investigation  is  undertaken, 
wherever  the  surface  is  even  scratched,  we  are  shocked 
to  find  to  what  an  extent  the  disease  is  eating  its  way 
underneath,  even  in  those  states  in  which  legislation  20 
on  the  subject  is  almost  ideal.    The  laws  are  admirable, 
but  the  enforcement  is  defective.    Thus,  glancing  over 
the  reports  recently  transmitted  to  the  National  Child 
Labor  Committee  by  its  agents,  I  find  that  in  New 
Jersey,  in  one  of  the  woolen  mills,  200  children  under  25 
the  legal  age  are  at  work.     In  the  glass  industry  of  Ohio, 
Pennsylvania,  and  West  Virginia,  the  evils  of  premature 
work  and  of  night  work  are  combined.     A  boy,  Willie 
Davis,  for  instance,  thirteen  years  old,  works  on  alter- 


Child  Labor  in  the  United  States  233 

nate  nights  from  6.30  P.M.  to  4.30  A.M.,  earning  ninety 
cents  a  day.     In  one  of  the  glasshouses  of  Wheeling, 
W.  Va.,  forty  boys  were  seen  by  the  agent,  apparently 
from  ten  to  twelve  years  of  age;   one  child  looked  not 
over  nine  years  old,  "but  was  too  busy  to  be  inter-    5 
viewed."     In  this  place  3000  children  of    the  school 
age  were  found  to  be  out  of  school.     In  this  town  there 
are  also  many  cigar  factories  that  employ  children.     And 
speaking  of  the  tobacco  industry  reminds  me  of  the  case 
of  a  child  worker  just  reported  from  Pittsburgh.     The  10 
boy  is  employed  in  a  toby  factory  —  "tobies"  being  a 
cheap  kind  of  cigar  —  in  rolling  tobies.     He  is  twelve 
years  of  age;    he  has  already  been  at  work  for  seven 
months;  the  hours  of  labor  are  from  6  A.  M.  to  8  P.  M., 
intermission  for  lunch  fifteen  minutes,  for  supper  twenty  15 
minutes,  in  all  thirty-five  minutes  in  fourteen  hours. 
He  works  Saturday  nights  from  seven  until  midnight, 
and  sometimes  until  two  Sunday  morning;    does  not 
work  Saturdays,  but  works  Sundays.     The  room  in 
which  he  rolls  his  "tobies"  is  described  as  dark  and  20 
poorly  ventilated;   the  atmosphere  is  charged  with  to- 
bacco dust.     The  boy  seems  gentle  and  uncomplaining, 
but  he  coughs ;  and  when  he  was  asked  whether  he  was 
well,  he  pointed  to  his  chest  and  to  his  back  and  said : 
"I  have  a  pain  here  and  there."  25 

And  in  our  own  State  of  New  York,  which  in  point  of 
legislation  is  in  advance  of  all  the  rest,  the  infractions 
of  the  law  that  occur  are  frightful  enough,  as  the  petition 
for  the  removal  of  the  present  factory  inspector  sent 


234  Arguments 

to  the  governor  by  the  Child  Labor  Committee  of 
New  York  plainly  proves.  In  a  single  one  of  the  canning 
factories  where  abuses  are  particularly  flagrant,  the  fore- 
man himself  estimated  the  number  of  children  at  work 
in  violation  of  the  law  to  be  300.  Children  as  young  as  5 
ten,  nine,  and  seven  were  found  to  be  at  work  side  by 
side  with  their  mothers,  from  9  A.M.  to  9  P.M.  In  the 
Chelsea  jute  mills  of  Brooklyn,  an  establishment  which 
acquired  an  unenviable  notoriety  in  connection  with  the 
Annie  Ventre  case  some  months  ago,  there  are  reported  10 
to  be  at  the  present  time  85  children  at  work  under  the 
legal  age.  In  the  sweated  trades  the  evils  are  the  same, 
or  if  possible  worse.  The  report  further  states  that  the 
number  of  violations,  not  of  the  child  labor  laws  in  par- 
ticular but  of  the  factory  laws  in  general,  is  alarmingly  15 
on  the  increase :  33,000  reported  in  1901,  50,000  in  1903. 
I  must  again  repeat  that  the  number  of  law-defy- 
ing employers  cannot  be  estimated  with  any  exactness. 
Sweeping  arraignments,  sensational  generalizations,  are 
unjust  in  this  as  in  other  cases.  There  are  employers,  20 
not  a  few,  who  on  their  own  initiative  endeavor  to  en- 
hance the  safety,  the  comfort  and  the  well-being  of  their 
employees  beyond  anything  that  the  law  requires  of  them. 
But  the  mischief  wrought  by  the  lawless  minority,  af- 
fecting as  it  does  so  many  thousands  of  human  lives,  is  25 
intolerable ;  and  there  is  always  the  danger  that  in  a 
competitive  system  the  lowering  of  the  standard  by  the 
unscrupulous  will  tend  to  undermine  and  to  drag  down 
the  higher  standard  which  those  whose  intentions  are 


Child  Labor  in  the  United  States  235 

honorable  are  attempting  to  maintain.  There  is  need 
of  efforts  gradually  to  raise  the  age  limit  of  employment 
where  that  limit  is  too  low ;  and  it  has  been  found  also 
that  there  is  need  of  a  kind  of  national  steering  com- 
mittee to  promote  the  movement  on  behalf  of  child  pro-  5 
tection  —  in  view  of  the  fact  that  states  hitherto  agri- 
cultural are  more  and  more  entering  the  column  of 
the  industrial  states  —  for  the  purpose  of  guiding  as  far 
as  possible  this  transition,  and  enabling  the  newer  in- 
dustrial communities  to  profit  by  the  lessons  of  experi-  10 
ence,  and  preventing  in  their  case  the  needless  repeti- 
tion of  the  evils  which  have  marked  the  initial  stages  of 
industrial  development  in  the  older  countries  and  com- 
monwealths. Such  a  committee  has  now  been  created. 
But  in  addition  to  good  laws,  there  is  need  of  a  vigorous  15 
and  imperative  public  sentiment  in  favor  of  the  enforce- 
ment of  the  laws,  for  without  the  pressure  of  public 
sentiment  the  best  laws  remain  dead  letters,  as  the  ex- 
ample of  New  York  State  demonstrates.  But  public 
sentiment  cannot  be  maintained  without  public  interest  20 
in  the  question ;  and  it  is  to  aid  in  developing  such  in- 
terest with  a  view  to  maintaining  such  a  sentiment  that 
I  have  brought  the  matter  before  you  «in  this  address. 

And  now  let  us  briefly  consider  some  of  the  arguments 
that  are  advanced  in  favor  of  child  labor,  and  the  25 
grounds  upon  which  they  are  to  be  rejected.  The  first 
argument  is,  that  necessity  knows  no  compunction; 
that  however  undesirable  it  may  seem  to  harness  young 
children  to  the  yoke  of  toil,  it  is  impossible  to  do  without 


236  Arguments 

them,  because  if  child  labor  laws  are  enforced  certain 
important  branches  of  industry  will  cease  to  be  profit- 
able. For  instance,  in  the  glass  industry.  It  is  said 
that  this  industry  cannot  be  carried  on  without  the  aid 
of  young  boys,  and  of  the  textile  industries  in  the  South  5 
the  same  has  been  averred.  This  argument  is  as  old  as 
human  avarice,  and  it  appears  again  and  again  in  mod- 
ern economic  history.  It  is  fallacious,  for  the  reason 
that  cheap  labor  is  not  really  cheap,  and  that  higher  paid 
labor  —  in  this  case  the  labor  of  adults  as  compared  10 
with  that  of  children  —  is  not  really  more  expensive. 
The  prohibition  of  the  cheap  labor  of  the  child  is  favor- 
able to  the  invention  and  use  of  labor-saving  devices ;  it 
challenges  and  promotes  a  more  efficient  organization 
of  the  business;  and  it  imparts  a  higher  value  to  the  15 
product,  because  of  the  greater  skill,  vigor  and  interest 
of  the  labor  that  enters  into  the  product.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  at  the  time  when  the  two  principal  industries  of 
England  —  the  textile  and  the  coal-mining  industries 
—  were  prohibited  from  employing  children,  there  was  20 
a  tremendous  outcry,  and  it  was  freely  predicted  that 
those  branches  would  cease  to  be  profitable,  and  espe- 
cially that  England  would  cease  to  be  able  to  compete 
in  the  matter  of  textiles  and  coal  with  foreign  countries. 
But  what  has  been  the  event?  That  England  is  25 
stronger  to-day  —  not  in  spite  of,  but  because  she  has 
forbidden,  child  labor — in  just  those  two  branches  of  in- 
dustry than  she  was  at  the  time  when* those  sinister  pre- 
dictions were  uttered.  And  so  if  it  is  said  that  the  glass 


Child  Labor  in  the   United  States  237 

industry  cannot  be  carried  on  without  child  labor  there 
is  the  fact  to  be  noted  that  the  largest  glasshouse  in  the 
State  of  Ohio  is  carried  on  without  child  labor,  and  does 
not  appear  to  be  conducted  at  a  loss. 

A  second  argument  is  the  attempt  to  block  a  humani-    5 
tarian  movement  for  a  seemingly  humanitarian  reason, 
the  reason  being  that  the  labor  of  these  little  hands  is 
necessary  to  relieve  the  poverty  of  their  families,  and 
that  it  is  cruel  to  deprive  the  poor  of  that  increase  of  their 
weekly  earnings  —  even  if  it  be  only  two  or  three  dol-  10 
lars  —  which  little  children  are  able  to  supply.     In  an- 
swer to  this  plea  it  must  be  said  that  the  actual  state  of 
the  case  is  sometimes  quite  different  from  what  is  sup- 
posed.    For  instance,  I  have   in    mind  the  case  of  a 
boy  who,  though  fifteen  years  of  age,  was  sadly  over-  15 
worked,  his  hours  being  from  6  A.M.  to  10  P.M.     The 
father  of  this  boy  earns  from  six  to  seven  dollars  a  day. 
Surely  this  is  not  a  case  in  which  the  necessity  of  the 
parent  excuses  the  overtaxing  of  the  strength  of  a  young 
boy.     In  other  cases  parents  are  found  to  lead  a  para-  20 
sitic  life,  reversing  the  order  of  nature,  the  adults  liv- 
ing at  the  expense  of  the  children.     Economically  it  is 
brought  home  to  us,  that  the  wage  earned  by  children 
is  not  really  an  increase  of  the  family  earnings;    that 
where  there  is  competition  between  children  and  men  25 
the  wages  of  the  men  are  thereby  reduced;   so  that  .a 
family  in  which  man,  woman,  and  child  are  breadwin- 
ners  may  not    earn   more  —  sometimes    earn   less  — 
than  the  income  gained  by  the  man  when  the  man  alone 


238  Arguments 

was  the  breadwinner.  And  again,  in  those  cases  of 
genuine  hardship  which  undoubtedly  occur,  especially 
where  women  have  been  left  widowed  with  the  care  of 
a  family  upon  their  hands,  and  where  the  small  earnings 
of  children  ten  and  eleven  years  of  age  do  make  an  5 
appreciable  difference  (cases  have  occurred  of  loyal 
little  men  under  the  age  limit  coming  to  the  mills  with 
tears  in  their  eyes  and  begging  to  be  allowed  to  labor 
for  their  mothers'  sake) ;  I  say  in  such  cases  it  is  wiser 
for  society  to  commend  indeed  the  loyalty  of  these  little  10 
fellows,  but  to  send  them  to  school,  and  to  follow  the 
example  of  Ohio,  which  has  spread  a  law  upon  its  stat- 
ute books  looking  to  the  public  relief  of  destitute  families 
of  this  kind.  It  is  better  for  the  State  to  furnish  out- 
right relief  than  to  see  the  standard  of  living  of  whole  15 
sections  of  the  population  lowered  by  child  competi- 
tion. 

These  are  the  two  main  arguments.  There  is  one 
other  argument,  so  un-American  and  so  inhuman  that 
I  am  almost  ashamed  to  quote  it,  and  yet  it  has  been  20 
used,  and  I  fear  is  secretly  in  the  minds  of  some  who 
would  not  openly  stand  for  it.  A  manufacturer  standing 
near  the  furnace  of  a  glasshouse  and  pointing  to  a  pro- 
cession of  young  Slav  boys  who  were  carrying  the  glass 
on  trays,  remarked :  "  Look  at  their  faces,  and  you  will  25 
see  that  it  is  idle  to  take  them  from  the  glasshouse  in 
order  to  give  them  an  education;  they  are  what  they 
are,  and  will  always  remain  what  they  are."  He  meant 
that  there  are  some  human  beings  —  and  these  Slavs 


Child  Labor  in  the  United  States  239 

of  the  number  —  who  are  mentally  irredeemable,  so 
fast  asleep  intellectually  that  they  cannot  be  awakened ; 
designed  by  nature,  therefore,  to  be  hewers  of  wood 
and  drawers  of  water.  This  cruel  and  wicked  thing 
was  said  of  Slavs ;  it  is  the  same  thing  which  has  been  5 
said  from  time  immemorial  by  the  slave  owners  of  their 
slaves.  First  they  degrade  human  beings  by  denying 
them  the  opportunity  to  develop  their  better  nature; 
no  schools,  no  teaching,  no  freedom,  no  outlook;  and 
then,  as  if  in  mockery,  they  point  to  the  degraded  con-  10 
dition  of  their  victims  as  a  reason  why  they  should 
never  be  allowed  to  escape  from  it. 

These  are  the  arguments  advanced  for  child  labor. 
What  I  have  summarily  said  may  suffice  for  their  refu- 
tation ;  but  I  shall  not  content  myself  merely  with  the  15 
negative  attitude  of  meeting  our  opponents,  and  I  should 
like,  in  approaching  the  close  of  my  address,  to  present 
the  grand  positive  reason  why  child  servitude  should 
be  abolished  throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  this 
land.  The  battle  is  sometimes  put  on  what  are  called  20 
sentimental  grounds.  Any  one  who  has  children  of  his 
own  cannot  help  enduring  a  certain  anguish  in  thinking 
of  such  cases  as  those  of  the  little  children  treading  up 
and  down  those  stairs  of  the  inferno  of  the  English  coal 
mines  with  buckets  of  coal  on  their  backs,  or  of  the  little  25 
children  in  the  mills  returning  to  their  squalid  homes 
at  2.30  in  the  morning,  or  of  the  little  boy  rolling  "to- 
bies" in  the  dark  and  ill- ventilated  room  for  fourteen 
mortal  hours,  coughing,  with  a  pain  "here  and  there." 


240  Arguments 

And  when  we  picture  these  things  and  realize  what  they 
mean  we  are  apt  to  cry  out  in  a  sort  of  wild  indignation, 
saying:  "These  things  must  stop;  we  will  not  permit 
them  to  go  on."  In  other  words,  we  think  of  the  indi- 
vidual children ;  and  as  we  are  men  and  women  capable  5 
of  sympathetic  feeling,  our  hearts  bleed  for  them. 

But  in  addition  we  must  never  forget  that  beyond 
the  individual  interest  there  is  a  vast  social  interest  at 
stake,  the  interest  of  American  civilization,  of  human 
civilization,  of  all  those  generations  that  are  to  succeed  10 
us.  The  reason  why  child  labor  must  be  abolished, 
apart  from  the  sufferings  of  individuals,  is  one  which 
biology  and  ethics  combine  to  enforce  upon  us.  The 
higher  the  type  of  living  being,  the  finer  the  organism, 
the  longer  the  period  of  time  required  for  its  maturing.  15 
The  young  of  birds  and  of  the  lower  animals  are  full 
grown  after  a  few  days  or  a  few  weeks.  They  acquire 
with  incredible  rapidity  the  use  of  inherited  instincts, 
and  after  the  shortest  infancy  are  ready  to  take  up  the 
struggle  for  existence  after  the  fashion  of  their  species.  20 
The  human  being  requires  a  period  of  preparation 
extending  over  years  before  he  is  ready  to  take  up  the 
struggle  for  existence  after  the  human  fashion.  First 
infancy,  then  childhood,  then  early  youth ;  and  during 
all  that  period  he  must  remain  dependent  on  the  pro-  25 
tection  and  the  nurture  of  adult  kinsfolk.  If  that  pe- 
riod is  curtailed,  the  end  of  Naturejn  this  highest  type 
of  living  being  —  man  —  is  thwarted.  It  is  for  this 
reason  that  premature  toil  is  such  a  curse.  The  child 


Child  Labor  in  the  United  States  241 

must  develop  physically,  and  to  do  so  it  must  play ;  the 
child  must  develop  mentally,  and  to  do  so  it  must  be  sent 
to  school ;  the  child  must  develop  morally,  and  to  do  so 
it  must  be  kept  within  the  guarded  precincts  of  the  home. 

The  physical  effects  of  precocious  childhood  are  arrest  5 
of  growth,  puny,  stunted  stature,  anaemia,  thin,  ema- 
ciated limbs,  sunken  cheeks  and  hollow  eyes ;  and  dis- 
eases of  all  kinds  —  of  the  lungs,  of  the  joints,  of  the 
spine  —  for  arrest  of  development  does  not  mean  mere 
arrest,  but  means  malformation.  10 

The  mental  effects  of  precocity  labor  are  likewise 
arrest  of  mental  development ;  and  this,  too,  means  not 
only  a  stopping  short  but  a  development  in  the  wrong 
direction.  The  brilliant  but  short-lived  intelligence 
of  many  newsboys,  their  high-strung  excitability,  their  15 
sinister  anticipation  of  world  knowledge,  followed  often 
by  torpor  and  mental  exhaustion  later  on,  are  an  instance 
in  point.  We  laugh  at  and  applaud  their  sallies  of  wit, 
their  quick  repartee,  their  seeming  ability  to  play  the 
game  of  life  on  a  par  with  adults ;  we  do  not  look  be-  20 
yond  the  moment,  nor  count  the  cost  they  pay. 

And  the  moral  effects,  as  is  to  be  expected,  are  of 
the  same  sort ;  loosening  of  family  ties,  roving  the  streets, 
familiarity  with  vice  and  the  haunts  of  vice,  a  startling 
independence  before  the  moral  nature  is  fit  to  maintain  25 
independence,  a  process  of  selection  so  trying  that 
while  sometimes  it  leads  those  subjected  to  it  to  distin- 
guished achievement,  more  often  it  leads  to  ruin. 

The  finer  the  type  the  longer  the  period  needed  for 


242  Arguments 

the  maturing  of  it.  In  the  case  of  youths  dedicated  to 
the  professions,  the  period  of  preparation  at  present 
extends  far  into  the  twenties.  In  the  case  of  all  who 
are  to  be  component  members  of  this  American  nation, 
to  carry  on  its  great  traditions  and  help  in  solving  its  5 
tremendous  problems,  the  period  of  preparation  should 
not  be  cut  short  below  the  sixteenth  year.  This  is 
the  standard  toward  which  we  are  working,  toward 
which  we  hope  to  approximate  —  more  rapidly  in  the 
older  communities,  more  patiently  and  with  a  due  re-  10 
gard  to  all  the  interests  involved  in  the  less  advanced 
communities.  But  we  look  forward  to  the  day  when 
the  standard  shall  be  adopted  in  all  the  American  com- 
monwealths, and  the  total  abolition  of  child  labor  in 
every  form  shall  be  the  honorable  achievement  of  the  15 
entire  American  people. 

The  emancipation  of  childhood  from  economic  serv- 
itude is  a  social  reform  of  the  first  magnitude.  It  is 
also  one  upon  which  we  can  all  unite.  There  are  so 
many  proposed  reforms  upon  which  it  is  impossible  to  20 
secure  agreement,  different  minds,  though  alike  honest, 
inevitably  differing  with  regard  to  them.  But  here  is 
a  reform  upon  which  we  can  agree,  which  must  appeal 
to  every  right-thinking  person,  and  which  is  urgent. 
And  one  particular  advantage  of  it  I  should  like  to  point  25 
out,  namely,  that  it  is  calculated  to  be  the  best  induction 
into  the  right  spirit  of  social  reform,  that  it  will  attune 
the  community  in  which  it  is  achieved  to  a  favorable 
reception  of  sane  and  sound  social  reforms  generally. 


Child  Labor  in  the  United  States          243 

Because  if  once  it  comes  to  be  an  understood  thing  that 
a  certain  sacredness  "doth  hedge  around "  a  child,  that 
a  child  is  industrially  taboo,  that  to  violate  its  rights 
is  to  touch  profanely  a  holy  thing,  that  it  has  a  soul 
which  must  not  be  blighted  for  the  prospect  of  mere  5 
gain;  if  this  be  once  generally  conceded  with  regard 
to  the  child  the  same  essential  reasoning  will  be  found 
to  apply  also  to  the  adult  workers;  they,  too,  will  not  be 
looked  upon  as  mere  commodities,  as  mere  instruments 
for  the  accumulation  of  riches;  to  them  also  a  certain  10 
sacredness  will  be  seen  to  attach,  and  certain  human 
rights  to  belong,  which  may  not  be  infringed.  I  have 
great  hopes  for  the  adjustment  of  our  labor  difficulties 
on  a  higher  plane,  if  once  we  can  gain  the  initial  victory 
of  inculcating  regard  for  the  higher  human  nature  that  15 
is  present  potentially  in  the  child. 

And  there  is  one  additional  word  which,  if  I  may  so 
far  encroach  upon  your  patience,  I  should  like  to  say: 
It  is  not  enough  to  shut  the  children  out  of  the  factory, 
we  must  also  bring  them  into  the  school,  and  compel  20 
parents,  if  necessary,  to  send  them  to  school ;  the  move- 
ment for  compulsory  education  everywhere  goes  hand 
in  hand,  and  must  go  hand  in  hand,  with  the  child- 
labor  movement. 

The  child-labor  movement  has  for  its  object  to  fence  25 
off  an  open  space  within  which  the  educational  institu- 
tions of  the  country  may  do  their  perfect  work.     The 
school  has  for  its  object  to  win  from  the  human  beings 
confided  to  it  the  human  qualities  latent  in  them,  im- 


244  Arguments 

agination,  taste,  skill,  appreciation,  vigorous  reasoning, 
will  power,  character;  to  fulfill  the  ends  of  Nature  in 
the  finest  organism,  the  highest  type  of  living  being 
which  she  has  yet  produced.  A  more  convincing  appeal 
than  comes  to  us  from  these  two  movements  jointly,  5 
the  child  labor  and  the  educational  movements,  in  my 
judgment,  cannot  be  conceived  of.  And  without  the 
former  the  latter  cannot  succeed. 


THE   CORNER   STONES   OF   MODERN 
DRAMA1 

HENRY  ARTHUR  JONES 

IF  we  throw  one  sweeping  glance  over  the  whole  past 
history  of  the  drama,  we  are  deeply  impressed  by  two 
main,  commanding  features.  The  first  of  these  is  the 
perennial  and  universal  existence  of  the  dramatic  instinct, 
always  and  everywhere  seeking  expression,  always  and  5 
everywhere  pushing  up  its  shoots  into  the  national  life. 
Often  repressed,  often  debased,  often  childish,  often 
vulgar,  often  obscene,  often  the  emptiest,  silliest  bauble ; 
formless ;  ribald ;  violent ;  grotesque ;  a  feast  of  inde- 
cencies, or  a  feast  of  horrors,  there  has  yet  rarely  been  a  10 
time,  or  a  country,  where  some  kind  of  drama  has  not 
been  fitfully  and  precariously  struggling  into  existence. 
That  is  the  first  main  feature  in  the  world's  dramatic 
history.  The  second  main  feature  is  inverse  and  com- 
plementary. Twice  in  the  past  the  drama  has  splen-  15 
didly  emerged,  has  seized,  possessed,  inflamed  and  in- 
terpreted the  whole  spirit  of  the  nation,  has  become  the 
supreme  artistic  achievement  of  the  age  and  people. 
Twice  it  has  thus  emerged — once  in  Greece,  and  once  in 
Elizabethan  England.  But  a  Frenchman  would  say  20 
that  three  times,  and  a  Spaniard  would  claim  that  four 

1  An  address  delivered  at  Harvard  University,  October  31,  1906. 

245 


246  Arguments 

times  in  the  world's  history  have  there  been  great 
creative  outbursts  of  drama.  Well,  we  who  possess 
Shakespeare  will  generously  allow  that  there  have  been 
four  such  great  creative  outbursts  which  have  left  stand- 
ing these  towering  mountain  ranges  of  drama  for  us  to  5 
wonder  at.  France,  in  the  seventeenth  century,  was  the 
scene  of  the  last  of  these  great  creative  outbursts,  and 
the  incomparable  Moliere  was  the  head  and  front  of  its 
glory. 

This  brings  me  to  the  purpose  of  my  lecture,  which  is,  10 
indeed,  to  ask  this  practical  question,  "  By  what  means 
can  a  worthy  art  of  the  drama  be  fostered  and  developed 
in  America  and  England  to-day  ?  "     I  think  we  may  best 
get  an  answer  to  this  question  by  comparing  the  history 
and  status  of  the  drama  in  France  and  in  England  from  15 
the  time  of  Moliere  down  to  the  twentieth  century  — 
down  to  the  modern  drama  of  the  day  before  yesterday. 

Let  us  look  at  England  first.  Immediately  after 
Moliere  we  have  Dryden,  and  the  brilliant  and  corrupt 
Restoration  Comedy,  largely  drawing  its  inspiration  20 
from  France  and  Moliere.  But  our  leading  Restoration 
dramatists  had  not  the  immense  advantage  of  Moliere's 
practical  acquaintance  with  the  theater ;  and  their  plays, 
compared  with  Moliere's,  are  badly  and  loosely  con- 
structed. Further,  there  is  a  profound,  instinctive,  all-  25 
pervasive  morality  in  Moliere.  Moliere's  morality  is 
sure,  intrinsic,  inevitable ;  like  Dante's,  like  Ibsen's,  like 
Nature's  morality.  Our  English  Restoration  Comedy  is 
arid,  heartless,  degrading ;  essentially  mischievous,  cor- 


The  Corner  Stones  of  Modern  Drama       247 

rupt  and  depraved.  Our  love  for  Charles  Lamb  must 
not  tempt  us  for  a  moment  to  accept  his  ingenious  and 
audacious  excuse  for  Restoration  Comedy.  We  will  not 
withdraw  our  censure  from  these  Restoration  heroes  and 
heroines  on  the  curious  plea  that  they  are  fairy  rakes  and  5 
harlots  living  in  a  fairy  land  of  cuckoldry ;  in  spite  of 
Charles  Lamb  we  will,  if  you  please,  very  heartily  and 
wholesomely  condemn  them,  and  feel  all  the  better  and 
more  self-righteous  for  having  done  it. 

Our  Restoration  Comedy,  then,  has  vanished  from  our  10 
stage,  on  the  score  of  bad  construction  and  bad  morality ; 
more,  I  fear,  because  of  its  bad  construction  than  of  its 
bad  morality.     But  though  the  Restoration  Comedy  no 
longer  holds  our  stage,  the  splendor  of  its  wit,  and  the 
vividness  of  its  portraiture  of  town  life  insure  it  a  lasting  15 
place  in  English  literature. 

Since  the  Restoration  Comedy,  what  place  has  the 
English  drama  held  in  English  literature? 

I  was  dining  the  other  night  with  a  book-collecting 
friend.  He  brought  out  first  editions  of  "The  Rivals,"  20 
"The  School  for  Scandal,"  and  "She  Stoops  to  Con- 
quer." "There!"  he  exclaimed,  "that's  all  the  har- 
vest of  your  English  drama  for  the  last  two  hundred 
years."  Those  three  little  volumes  were  all  that  a 
wealthy  collector  thought  worthy  to  preserve  of  the  25 
dramatic  art  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  in  the  past  two 
hundred  years  —  that  Anglo-Saxon  race  which  during 
that  same  two  hundred  years  has  held  sovereign  sway  and 
masterdom  in  literature,  in  science,  and  in  arms ;  which 


248  Arguments 

once  held  the  sovereignty  of  the  world  in  drama ;  a  race 
of  restless  and  inexhaustible  achievement  in  almost  every 
field ;  a  race  of  action,  and  therefore  essentially  a  dra- 
matic race ;  a  race  whose  artistic  instincts  would  irre- 
sistibly find  their  natural  and  triumphant  outlet  on  the  5 
stage.  And  in  two  hundred  years  all  that  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  race  has  produced  of  drama  worthy  to  be  pre- 
served as  literature  is  contained  in  those  three  tiny  vol- 
umes. Why  have  we  made  such  a  beggarly  mess  of  our 
drama  ?  10 

Now  if  we  turn  from  England  to  France,  and  survey 
the  French  theater  and  the  French  drama,  we  shall  find 
that  there  has  been  an  almost  continuous  stream  of  great 
writers  for  the  stage  from  Moliere  onwards  to  the  present 
time.  In  the  seventeenth  century,  Moliere  stands  not  15 
only  at  the  head  of  the  French  drama,  but  also  at  the 
head  of  French  literature;  holding  the  same  relative 
place  as  did  Shakespeare  in  England  half  a  century 
earlier.  If  France  were  asked,  "  Who  of  your  sons  since 
Moliere  dare  claim  the  garland  of  eternal  and  universal  20 
renown  ?  Who  in  your  later  days  is  fit  to  stand  in  the 
circle  of  Homer,  Virgil,  Dante,  Shakespeare,  Milton,  and 
Goethe  ?"  —  if  France  were  asked  that  question,  I  sup- 
pose she  could  only  send  in  the  names  of  two  candidates 

-  Voltaire  and  Victor  Hugo.     But  these,  her  two  most  25 
famous  men  of  letters  in  the  eighteenth  and  in  the  nine- 
teenth centuries,  are  also  her  leading  playwrights.     As 
Moliere   in   his   century   headed   both   literature   and 
drama,  so  do  Voltaire  and  Victor  Hugo  in  theirs.     But 


The  Corner  Stones  of  Modern  Drama       249 

what  a  crowd  of  illustrious  companions  swarm  round 
these  great  men.     Look  down  the  long  list  of  them  — 
Regnard,  Marivaux,  Beaumarchais,  Dumas,  Alfred  de 
Musset,  Casimir  Delavigne,  Dumas  fils,  Augier,  Labiche, 
not  to  mention  half  a  dozen  living  writers  who  are  yearly    5 
throwing  out  powerful  dramas  dealing  faithfully,  sin- 
cerely, and  searchingly  with  the  vital  characters,  scenes, 
and  issues  of  our  modern  social  life.  Take  the  long  list  of 
French  writers  of  the  first  rank,  and  you  will  scarcely  find 
one  who  has  not  been  more  or  less  successful  on  the  stage.  10 
The  French  theater  has  not  been  merely  in  constant  touch 
with  French  literature ;  the  French  theater  and  French 
literature  have  been  wedded  to  each  other  for  the  last 
two  hundred  years,  bone  of  one  bone  and  flesh  of  one 
flesh.     Every  play  by  a  leading  French  playwright  is  15 
not  only  eagerly  discussed  and  judged  in  the  theater;  it 
is    immediately  published   and  eagerly  discussed  and 
judged  as  literature.     A  year  or  two  ago,  I  remember 
taking  up  at  a  little  wayside  French  bookstall  a  copy  of 
the  two  hundred  and  eightieth  thousand  of  Cyrano  de  20 
Bergerac. 

Further,  during  those  two  centuries  there  has  been 
a  constant  method  of  training  actors  and  actresses. 
Acting  is  known  to  be  a  great  art  in  France.  The  all- 
round  performance  of  a  strong  emotional  play  in  Paris  25 
is  immeasurably  above  the  all-round  performance  of  a 
strong  emotional  play  in  London ;  while  the  exhibition 
of  quite  amateur  performers  in  leading  parts,  such  as  is 
not  rarely  seen  on  the  London  stage,  would  be  a  thing 


250  Arguments 

disgraceful  or  impossible  in  any  leading  city  of  France, 
to  say  nothing  of  Paris. 

Again,  in  France  the  drama  is  reckoned  as  a  fine  art, 
and  is  judged  on  that  level ;  that  is,  as  a  means  of  pro- 
viding amusement  by  the  representation  and  interpre-  5 
tation  of  life.  The  French  are  a  nation  of  cultivated 
playgoers,  alert  to  seize  the  finest  shades  of  the  actor's 
and  the  author's  meaning.  In  England,  the  great  mass 
of  playgoers  have  lost  all  sense  that  the  drama  is  the  art 
of  representing  life,  and  go  to  the  theater  mainly  to  be  10 
awed  by  scenery,  or  to  be  tickled  by  funny  antics  and 
songs  and  dances  that  have  no  relation  to  life,  and 
merely  provide  a  means  of  wasting  the  evening  in  enter- 
tainments not  far  removed  from  idiocy. 

If  the  English  drama  for  two  hundred  years  makes  a  15 
beggarly  show  when  looked  at  by  itself,  how  abject  and 
meager  and  utterly  despicable  does  it  appear  when  com- 
pared with  the  drama  of  France  in  the  same  period! 
Once  more  we  are  brought  round  to  the  same  question, 
"What  are  the  causes  of  the  present  pitiable  condition  20 
of  the  Anglo-American  drama  to-day  ?"     Again  I  claim 
that  the  Anglo-American  race  is  naturally  and  instinct- 
ively a  dramatic  race ;  a  race  of  action ;  a  race  fitted  for 
great  exploits  on  the  outer  and  larger  stage  of  the  world's 
history,  and  also  for  great  exploits  on  the  inner  and  25 
smaller  stage  of  the  theater.    We  have  proved  our  mettle 
on  both  stages.     We  hold  the  world's  prize  for  drama. 
Why  then  are  we  so  far  to  seek  ?     Why  are  we  lagging 
behindhand  in  this  our  own  native  art  of  the  drama, 


The  Corner  Stones  of  Modern  Drama        251 

where  by  right  we  should  lead  the  other  nations  at  our 
heels  ?  How  is  it  that  these  three  poor  thin  volumes  of 
plays  are  all  that  we  have  to  show  for  two  hundred 
years ;  while  of  living,  serious,  operative,  modern  drama 
to-day  America  and  England  have  barely  a  fragment  5 
that  will  stand  the  final  test  of  a  quiet  hour  in  the  study  ? 

The  fundamental  reason  is  to  be  found  in  the  charac- 
ter of  our  race.     We  are  a  dramatic  race :  we  are  also  a 
deeply  religious  race.     Religion  easily  runs  riot  to  fear 
and  meanness  and  madness,  and  creates  abominable  10 
hells  in  its  panic.     After  the  mellow  pomp  of  the  Eliza- 
bethan age,  religion  ran  riot  in  England.     We  owe  the 
imbecility  and  paralysis  of  our  drama  to-day  to  the  insane 
rage  of  Puritanism  that  would  see  nothing  in  the  theater 
but  a  horrible,  unholy  thing  to  be  crushed  and  stamped  15 
out  of  existence.     Let  our  Puritan  friends  ask  them- 
selves how  far  their  creed  is  responsible,  by  the  natural 
and  inevitable  law  of  reaction,  for  the  corruption  of  the 
national  drama  at  the  Restoration,  and  for  its  pitiable 
condition  ever  since.     The  feeling  of  horror  and  fright  of  20 
the  theater,  engendered  at  the  Restoration,  is  even  to-day 
widely  prevalent  and  operative  among  religious  classes 
in  England  and  America.     It  muddles  and  stupefies 
our  drama,  and  degrades  it  from  the  rank  of  a  fine  art  to 
the  rank  of  a  somewhat  disreputable  form  of  popular  25 
entertainment. 

I  have  pointed  out  what  I  believe  to  be  the  underly- 
ing cause  of  the  intellectual  degradation  of  the  Anglo- 
American  drama  to-day.  But,  attendant  on  this 


252  Arguments 

primary  cause,  are  those  other  secondary  and  resultant 
causes  and  signs  of  degradation  which  we  have  glanced 
at  in  comparing  the  English  and  French  drama.  I  will 
repeat  them  in  the  order  of  their  importance. 

(1)  The  divorce  of  the  English  drama  from  English    5 
literature,  of  which  it  is  indeed  the  highest  and  most 
difficult  form,  and  of  which  it  should  be  chief  ornament. 
Accompanying  this  divorce  of  literature  and  the  drama 

is  the  contempt  of  English  men  of  letters  and  literary 
critics  for  the  theater;    their  utter  ignorance  of  the  10 
difficulties  of  the  dramatist;   their  refusal  to  recognize 
the  modern  drama  as  literature,  which  refusal  again 
reacts  upon    the    dramatist,  and    tends  to  lower  the 
quality  of  his   work,  inasmuch   as  he  is  left  without 
encouragement,  and  without  any  appeal  to  high  stand-  15 
ards  of  literature  and  good  taste. 

(2)  The  general  absence  from  the  English  theater 
and  from  modern  English  plays  of  any  sane,  consistent, 
or  intelligible  ideas  about  morality;   so  that,  while  the 
inanities  and  indecencies  of  musical  comedy  are  snig-  20 
gered  at  and  applauded,  the  deepest  permanent  pas- 
sions of  men  and  women  are  tabooed,  and  the  serious 
dramatist  is  bidden  to  keep  his  characters  well  within 
the  compass  of  that  system  of  morality  which  is  prac- 
ticed amongst  wax  dolls.  25 

(3 )  The  divorce  of  the  English  drama  from  its  sister 
arts;   its  deposition  from  any  assured  place  in  the  in- 
tellectual and  artistic  life  of  the  nalion. 

(4)  The  absorption  of  the  English  drama  into  popular 


The  Corner  Stones  of  Modern  Drama        253, 

amusement ;  the  absence  of  any  high  standard  whereby 
to  judge  acting  or  plays;  the  absence  of  all  great  tradi- 
tions ;  the  absence  of  all  pride  in  the  drama  as  a  fine, 
and  humane,  and  dignified  art. 

(5 )  The  want  of  a  training  school  for  actors  —  the    5 
want  of  any  means  for  giving  promising  novices  a  con- 
stant practice  in  varied  roles,  that  they  may  gradually 
acquire  a  sure  grip  of  their  art,  and  make  the  best  of 
their  natural  gifts;    and  that  the  author  may  have  a 
sufficient  supply  of  competent  actors  to  interpret  his  10 
characters  in  such  a  way  that  his  play  may  be  seen  to 
good  advantage. 

(6)  The  elevation  of  incompetent  actors  and  actresses 
into  false  positions  as  stars,  whereby,  in  the  dearth  of 
any  general  level  of  experienced  and  competent  all-  15 
round  acting,  the  possessor  of  a  pretty  face  or  a  fine 
physique  is  able  to  dominate  the  situation,  and  to  rule 
what  plays  shall  be  produced,  and  how  they  shall  be 
cast  and  mounted ;  the  general  lack  of  all  interest  in  the 
play,  or  in  the  author's  study  of  life  and  character,  apa*  t  20 
from  their  being  the  vehicle  for  some  star  actor  to  put 
or  keep  himself  in  a  leading  position,  with  his  actor 
brothers  and  sisters  as  his  satellites. 

(7)  A  widely  spread  dependence  "upon  translations 
and  adaptions  of  foreign  plays,  inasmuch  as  they  can  be  25 
bought  at  a  cheap  rate,  and,  in  the  absence  of  any  gen- 
eral care  or  knowledge  as  to  what  a  natural  drama  should 
be,  are  just  as  likely  to  provide  the  actor  with  a  personal 
and  pecuniary  success,  while  they  also  largely  set  him 


254  Arguments 

free  from  all  obligations  to  that  objectionable  and  inter- 
fering person,  the  author. 

Now  all  these  discouraging  symptoms  and  conditions 
of  our  modern  drama  which  I  have  glanced  at  are  in- 
extricably related  to  each  other ;  many  of  them  are,  in-  5 
deed,  only  different  aspects  of  the  same  facts ;  they  are 
woven  all  of  a  piece  with  each  other,  and  with  that 
Puritan  horror  of  the  theater  which  I  believe  to  be  the 
cardinal  reason,  that  neither  America  nor  England  has 
to-day  an  art  of  the  drama  at  all  worthy  the  dignity,  the  10 
resources,  and  the  self-respect  of  a  great  nation.  Many 
of  these  discouraging  symptoms  and  conditions  are 
perhaps  more  widely  prevalent,  and  more  pronounced, 
in  England  than  in  America.  But  I  hope  you  will  not 
think  I  have  given  an  ill-natured  or  exaggerated  sketch  15 
of  the  present  condition  of  the  Anglo-American  drama. 
If  I  have  wounded  your  susceptibilities,  I  have  done  it 
with  the  good  intention  of  rendering  you  some  small 
help  in  your  noble  design  of  building  up  a  great  national 
school  of  American  drama.  And,  as  an  Englishman,  I  20 
must  regretfully  own  that  I  see  a  great  chance  of  your 
having  a  national  theater  and  a  national  drama,  while 
we  are  left  fumbling  about  amongst  the  grotesque 
futilities  of  French  adaptations,  and  the  imbecilities  of 
musical  farce.  25 

Now,  if  I  have  struck  my  finger  on  the  place  in  point- 
ing to  the  religious  dread  of  the  theater,  and  the  conse- 
quent abstention  from  it  of  the  best  and  soundest  ele- 
ments of  our  nations  —  if  I  have  traced  our  difficulties 


The' Corner  Stones  of  Modern  Drama       255- 

and  shortcomings  to  their  true  source,  it  'is  clear  that 
before  we  can  hope  for  any  signal  advance  in  dramatic 
art,  we  must  win  over  a  large  body  of  public  opinion  to 
our  views. 

In  their  attitude  towards  the  theater  and  the  drama,    5 
we  may,  I  think,  make  a  rough  division  of  the  Anglo- 
American  public  into  three  classes.     Both  in  England 
and  in  America  we  have  large  masses,  who  may  be 
counted  by  millions,  of  mere  amusement  seekers,  newly 
enfranchised  from  the  prison  house  of  Puritanism,  eager  10 
to  enjoy  themselves  at  the  theater  in  the  easiest  way, 
without  traditions,  without  any  real  judgment  of  plays 
or  acting;   mere  children,  with  no  care  or  thought  be- 
yond the  delight  of  the  moment  in  finding  themselves 
in  a  wonder  house  where   impossibly  heroic  and  self-  15 
sacrificing  persons  make  love  and  do  prodigious  deeds, 
and  marry  and  live  happily  ever  afterwards;    or  in  a 
funny  house  where  funny  people  do  all  sorts  of  funny 
things.     These  form  the  great  bulk,  I  think,  of  Ameri- 
can and  English  playgoers.     Then  we  have  a  very  large  20 
class  of  moderate,  reasonable,  respectable  people,  who 
go  to  the  theater  occasionally,  but  with  some  feeling 
of  discomfort    at    having  done  a  frivolous,  if  not  a 
wicked  thing ;  who  are  not  actively  hostile  to  the  drama, 
perhaps,  but  who  are  quite  indifferent  to  its  higher  25 
development  and  to  its  elevation  into  a  fine  art.     This 
class  contains  many  refined,  cultivated  people  —  that 
is,  they  seem  to  be  cultivated  and  refined  in  all  subjects 
except  the  drama.     It  is  a  constant  puzzle  to  me  why 


256  Arguments 

men  and  women  who  are  thoroughly  educated  and 
developed  in  every  other  respect  should  suddenly  drop 
to  the  mental  range  of  children  of  five  the  moment  they 
think  and  speak  about  the  drama. 

Again,  we  have  a  third  class,  a  very  large  class,  which    5 
contains  some  of  the  soundest  and  best  elements  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon  race:    very  influential,  very  respectable, 
very  much  to  be  regarded,  and  consulted,  and  feared. 
And  this  large,  influential,  religious  class  is  in  more  or 
less  active  hostility  to  the  theater,  and  to  the  drama,  10 
and  to  everything  and  everybody  connected  therewith. 
We  may  call  these  three  classes  respectively  the  amuse- 
ment-seeking class;    the  moderate,  reasonable,  indif- 
ferent class;    the  hostile,  religious  class.     This  is  the 
very  roughest  and  loosest  division,  and  of  course  all  15 
these  classes  blend  and  shade  into  each  other  without 
any  rigid  line  of  distinction.     I  do  not  know  how  actively 
hostile  to  the  drama  are  the  religious  elements  in  Ameri- 
can society.     I  am  told  that  while  the  religious  preju- 
dice against  the  theater  is  dying  away  in  the  eastern  20 
sea-board  states,  it  is  still  most  potent  and  aggressive 
in  the  West.     But  a  story  that  was  told  me  before  leav- 
ing England  will,  I  think,  convince  you  that  this  reli- 
gious prejudice  is  still  a  terrible  hindrance  to  the  highest 
development  of  your  drama.     There  is  nothing  in  which  25 
Americans  can  more  legitimately  take  pride  than  in 
the  magnificent  public  spirit  shown  by  their  wealthy 
citizens.     Englishmen  stand  agape  "and  envious  at  the 
large  sums  given  by  your  millionaires  to  advance  and 


The  Corner  Stones  of  Modern  Drama        257 

endow  all  kinds  of  scientific,  artistic  and  social  enter- 
prises. I  am  told  that  a  very  large  amount  was  designed 
by  a  wealthy  American  to  found  and  endow  a  national 
American  theater  on  a  most  lavish  scale;  but  he  was 
persuaded  by  a  religious  friend  to  hold  his  hand  and  5 
shut  his  pocket,  because  of  the  evil  that  a  national  theater 
might  work  in  your  midst.  Consider  what  mischief 
was  done  to  the  whole  American  community  by  the 
frustration  of  that  most  wise,  most  humane,  most  benev- 
olent scheme !  Consider  how  many  hundreds  of  thou-  10 
sands  of  your  fellow-citizens  will  in  consequence  waste 
their  evenings  in  empty  frivolity  when  they  might  have 
been  drawn  to  Shakespeare  or  Goethe.  Therefore  we 
must  still  count  that  the  hostile,  religious  spirit  is  very 
active  and  potent  on  your  side  of  the  Atlantic,  as  upon  15 
ours.  It  everywhere  sets  up  a  current  of  ill-will  and  ill- 
nature  towards  the  drama  throughout  the  two  entire 
nations:  it  everywhere  stimulates  opposition  to  the 
theater:  it  keeps  alive  prejudices  that  would  otherwise 
have  died  down  two  hundred  years  ago :  and  it  is,  in  my  20 
opinion,  the  one  great  obstacle  to  the  rise  and  develop- 
ment of  a  serious,  dignified,  national  art  of  the  drama. 
I  fear  there  will  always  be  a  crew  of  unwholesome, 
religious  fanatics  in  America  and  England  who  will 
be  doomed  at  their  birth  to  be  hostile  to  the  drama.  25 
It  is  useless  to  argue  with  them.  You  cannot  argue 
the  jaundice  out  of  a  man,  and  advise  him  that  it  is 
foolish  to  have  a  sickly  green  complexion.  He  needs 
something  far  more  drastic  than  advice  and  argument. 


258  Arguments 

We  must  leave  the  fanatics  to  rave  against  the  theater, 
and  against  all  art  and  beauty. 

But  among  this  actively  hostile  religious  class,  and 
also  among  the  moderate,  reasonable,  indifferent  class, 
there  must  be  thousands  who,  having  been  nurtured  to  5 
regard  the  theater  as  frivolous  and  empty  and  evil,  have 
adopted  the  ideas  current  around  them,  and  have  never 
taken  the  trouble  to  examine  their  stock  prejudices 
against  the  drama,  and  to  inquire  whether  there  is  any 
ground  for  them.  To  this  large  body  of  American  and  10 
English  citizens ;  to  the  heads  and  leaders  of  all  those 
religious  sects  in  America  and  England  who  are  now 
hostile  to  the  drama;  and  especially  to  that  large  allied 
class  of  influential,  educated  men  in  both  countries, 
who,  if  not  actively  hostile,  are  supercilious,  and  cold,  15 
and  indifferent,  and  blind  to  the  aims  and  possibilities 
of  this  fine  art  —  to  all  these  citizens  representing  the 
best  and  soundest  elements  in  the  Anglo-American 
race,  we  may  make  a  strong  and  friendly  appeal.  I 
propose  that  we  shall  say  to  them: —  20 

"  Brother  Puritans,  Brother  Pharisees,  the  dramatic 
instinct  is  ineradicable,  inexhaustible;  it  is  entwined 
with  all  the  roots  of  our  nature;  you  may  watch  its  in- 
cessant activity  in  your  own  children;  almost  every 
moment  of  the  day  they  are  acting  some  little  play;  25 
as  we  grow  up  and  strengthen,  this  dramatic  instinct 
grows  up  and  strengthens  in  us ;  as  our  shadow,  it  clings 
to  us ;  we  cannot  escape  from  it  f  we  cannot  help  pic- 
turing back  to  ourselves  some  copy  of  this  strange,  event- 


The  Corner  Stones  of  Modern  Drama        259 

ful  history  of  ours;  this  strange,  earthly  life  of  ours 
throws  everywhere  around  us  and  within  us  reflections 
and  re-reflections  of  itself;  we  act  it  over  and  over  again 
in  the  chambers  of  imagery,  and  in  dreams,  and  on  the 
silent  secret  stage  of  our  own  soul.  When  some  master  5 
dramatist  takes  these  reflections,  and  combines  them, 
and  shapes  them  into  a  play  for  us,  very  Nature  herself 
is  behind  him,  working  through  him  for  our  welfare. 
So  rigidly  economical,  so  zealously  frugal  is  she,  that 
what  is  at  first  a  mere  impulse  to  play,  a  mere  impulse  10 
to  masquerade  and  escape  from  life  —  this  idle  pastime 
she  transforms  and  glorifies  into  a  masterpiece  of  wis- 
dom and  beauty;  it  becomes  our  sweet  and  lovable  guide 
in  the  great  business  and  conduct  of  life.  This  is  what 
she  did  for  us  in  Shakespeare  and  Moliere.  Consider  15 
the  utility  of  the  theater,  you  practical  Americans  and 
Englishmen!  You  have  noticed  cats  teaching  their 
kittens  to  play  at  catching  mice.  But  this  is  their  great 
business  and  duty  in  after  life.  You  have  noticed 
puppies  pretending  to  hunt,  and  shake,  and  kill  game.  20 
But  this  is  their  great  business  and  duty  in  after  life. 
That  is  what  all  children  and  young  things  do.  They 
play  at  their  father's  business.  So  that  their  play  time 
is  not  wasted,  but  is  indeed  a  wise,  amusing  way  of  pre- 
paring for  life.  So  Nature  teaches  us,  her  children,  to  25 
play  at  life  in  the  theater,  that  we  may  carelessly  and 
easily  learn  the  great  rules  of  conduct;  that  we  may 
become  insensibly  instructed  in  the  great  art  of  living 
well;  insensibly  infected  with  a  hatred  for  things  base 


260  Arguments 

and  ungentle  and  foul;  insensibly  infected  with  a  pas- 
sion for  whatsoever  things  are  true,  and  honest,  and 
just,  and  pure,  and  lovely,  and  of  good  report. 

"This,  then,  is  the  use  of  the  theater,  that  men  may 
learn  the  great  rules  of  life  and  conduct  in  the  guise  of  5 
a  play;  learn  them,  not  formally,  didactically,  as  they 
learn  in  school  and  in  church,  but  pleasantly,  insensibly, 
spontaneously,  and  oftentimes,  believe  me,  with  a  more 
assured  and  lasting  result  in  manners  and  conduct.  Is 
not  that  a  wise  form  of  amusement  ?  10 

"Look  at  the  vast  population  of  our  great  cities  crowd- 
ing more  an'd  more  into  our  theaters,  demanding  there 
to  be  given  some  kind  of  representation  of  life,  some 
form  of  play.  You  cannot  quench  that  demand.  Dur- 
ing the  next  generation,  hundreds  of  theaters  will  be  15 
opened  all  over  America  and  England.  If  you  abstain 
from  visiting  those  theaters,  you  will  not  close  them. 
Millions  of  your  countrymen,  the  vast  masses,  will  still 
frequent  them.  The  effect  of  your  absence,  and  of  your 
discountenance,  will  merely  be  to  lower  the  moral  and  20 
intellectual  standard  of  the  plays  that  will  then  be  given. 
Will  you  never  learn  the  lesson  of  the  English  Restora- 
tion, that  when  the  best  and  most  serious  classes  of  the 
nation  detest  and  defame  their  theater,  it  instantly 
justifies  their  abuse  and  becomes  indeed  a  scandal  and  25 
a  source  of  corruption?  Many  of  you  already  put 
Shakespeare  next  to  the  Bible,  as  the  guide  and  inspirer 
of  our  race.  Why  then  do  you  despise  his  calling,  and 
vilify  his  disciples,  and  misunderstand  his  art?  Do 


The  Corner  Stones  of  Modern  Drama        261 

you  not  see  that  this  amusement  which  you  neglect 
and  flout  and  decry  is  more  than  an  amusement:  is 
indeed  at  once  the  finest  and  the  most  popular  of  all 
the  arts,  with  an  immense  influence  on  the  daily  lives 
of  our  fellow-citizens?  Help  us,  then,  to  organize  and  5 
endow  this  fine  art  in  all  the  cities  of  our  Anglo-Ameri- 
can race,  wherever  our  common  tongue  is  spoken,  from 
London  to  San  Francisco.  Help  us  to  establish  it  in 
the  esteem  and  affections  of  our  fellow-countrymen,  as 
the  measure  of  our  advance  in  humanity  and  civiliza-  10 
tion,  and  in  that  knowledge  of  ourselves  which  is  the  end 
and  flower  of  all  education !" 

Some  such  appeal  may,  I  think,  be  made  to  the  more 
seriously  minded  of  our  countrymen  qn  both  sides  the 
Atlantic.  I  have  given  it  great  prominence  in  these  15 
lectures,  because  I  feel  that  before  we  begin  to  build,  we 
need  to  clear  the  ground  of  the  rank  growths  of  preju- 
dice and  Puritan  hatred  which  still  choke  the  drama. 
Both  in  England  and  America  we  seem  to  be  waiting 
for  some  great  national  impulse,  some  word  of  command,  20 
for  a  general  forward  movement  towards  a  creative 
school  of  drama.  In  spite  of  many  discouragements 
and  humiliations  during  the  last  ten  or  twelve  years ;  in 
spite  of  the  hatred  of  the  religious  world,  the  indifference 
and  contempt  of  the  educated  and  artistic  classes,  the  25 
debased  frivolity  of  the  multitude,  the  zealous  envy  and 
rage  of  those  whose  ignoble  trade  and  daily  bread  it  is 
to  keep  the  drama  on  a  degraded  level  —  in  spite  of  all 
these  hindrances,  I  believe  that  word  of  command  will 


262  Arguments 

be  spoken,  and  that  we  shall  march  to  it.  But  if  there 
is  to  be  any  stability  and  permanence  in  the  movement, 
it  must  be  a  national  one.  We  must  engage  the  sym- 
pathies and  cooperation  of  all  classes.  We  have  many 
schisms  and  sects  in  religion:  let  us  have  none  in  the  5 
drama.  I  have  taken  much  time,  and,  I  fear,  I  have 
taxed  your  patience  in  thus  clearing  the  ground.  But 
having  cleared  the  ground,  we  can  begin  to  lay  the  cor- 
ner stones.  I  have  already  told  you  what  seem  to  me 
to  be  the  corner  stones  of  any  school  of  drama,  worthy  10 
to  be  called  national  in  such  countries  as  America  and 
England.  Perhaps  I  may  here  repeat  them  in  the  order 
of  their  importance.  They  are  these:  — 

(1)  The  recognition  of  the  drama  as  the  highest  and 
most  difficult  form  of  literature:   the  establishment  of  15 
definite  and  continuous  relations  between  the  drama 
and  literature. 

(2)  The  acknowledged  right  of  the  dramatist  to  deal 
with  the  serious  problems  of  life,  with  the  passions  of 
men  and  women  in  the  spirit  of  the  broad,  wise,  sane,  20 
searching  morality  of  the  Bible  and  Shakespeare:  his 
release  from  the  hypocritical  fiction  that  his  fellow- 
creatures  are  large  wax  dolls,  stuffed  with  the  saw- 
dust of  sentimentality  and  impossible  self-sacrifice.     To 
sum  up,  the  establishment  of  definite  and  continuous  25 
relations  between  the  drama  and  morality. 

(3)  The  severance  of  the  drama  from  popular  enter- 
tainment:   the  recognition  of  it  as  a  fine  art  which, 
though  its  lower  ranges  must  always  compound  with 


The  Corner  Stones  of  Modern  Drama       263 

mere  popular  entertainment,  and  be  confused  with  it, 
is  yet  essentially  something  different  from  popular 
entertainment,  transcends  it,  and  in  its  higher  ranges 
is  in  marked  and  eternal  antagonism  to  popular  enter- 
tainment. To  sum  up,  the  establishment  of  definite  5 
and  continuous  relations  between  the  drama  and  her 
sister  arts. 

(4)  The  establishment  of  those  relations  between 
actor  and  author  which  shall  best  aid  the  development 
of  the  drama :  the  recognition  by  the  public  that  there  10 
is  an  art  of  the  drama  as  well  as  an  art  of  acting :  the 
assignment  of  their  due  place,  and  functions,  and  op- 
portunities to  each :  the  breaking  down,  so  far  as  may 
be  possible,  of  the  present  deadening  system  of  long 
runs :  the  provision  of  training  schools  for  actors  so  that  15 
they  may  get  constant  practice  and  experience  in  varied 
roles,  so  that  the  auxiliary  arts  of  the  drama  and  the 
theater  may  keep  pace  and  tune  with  each  other,  so  that 
the  art  of  acting  may  not  languish  for  lack  of  new  plays, 
and  that  the  art  of  the  drama  may  not  languish  from  the  20 
lack  of  competent  and  serious  actors.  To  sum  up,  the 
establishment  of  rigidly  definite  relations  and  well- 
marked  boundaries  between  the  art  of  the  drama,  and 
the  art  of  acting,  to  the  benefit  and  advancement  of 
both  actor  and  author.  25 

These  seem  to  me  to  be  the  four  corner  stones  upon 
which  we  must  build,  if  we  are  ever  to  raise,  in  England 
and  America,  an  art  of  the  drama  with  any  real  influence, 
and  import,  and  dignity  in  Anglo-American  civilization. 


264  Arguments 

When  I  was  in  America  last  autumn  after  an  ab- 
sence of  twenty  years,  I  could  not  help  feeling  myself 
in  the  presence  of  immense  forces  that  are  gradually 
shifting  the  foundations,  and  changing  the  drift  of  Anglo- 
American  civilization.  I  could  not  help  feeling  that  5 
the  scepter  of  material  prosperity  is  slipping  from  our 
hands  into  your  vigorous,  remorseless  grasp.  I  could 
not  avoid  the  uneasy  presentiment  that  in  a  few  genera- 
tions the  center  and  seat  of  whatever  system  of  Anglo- 
American  civilization  may  then  be  current,  will  be  10 
irrevocably  fixed  on  this  side  the  Atlantic.  That  cannot 
be  other  than  a  saddening,  chilling  thought  to  an  Eng- 
lishman who  loves  his  country.  I  cannot  but  think 
it  will  bring  some  sympathetic  regret  to  many  Ameri- 
cans. Yet,  after  all,  your  chief  feeling  must  be  one  15 
of  pride  and  triumph  in  your  young  nation,  and  you  will 
chant  over  us  your  Emerson's  ringing  notes;  — 

The  lord  is  the  peasant  that  was, 

The  peasant  the  lord  that  shall  be: 

The  lord  is  hay,  the  peasant  grass,  20 

One  dry,  one  the  living  tree. 

But  the  Empire  of  Mammon  sucks  after  it  other 
empires ;  perhaps  in  our  modern  commercial  world  it 
will  suck  after  it  all  other  empires,  all  arts,  all  inter- 
ests, all  responsibilities,  all  leaderships.  Yet  we  must  25 
still  trust  that  in  days  to  come,  as  in  days  of  old,  it  will 
not  be  the  scepter  of  material  prosperity  that  will  finally 
hold  sway  over  the  earth.  Granted  that,  in  a  short 
time  as  reckoned  by  the  life  of  nations,  we  shall  have 


The  Corner  Stones  of  Modern  Drama       265 

to  hand  over  to  you,  with  what  grace  we  may,  the  scepter 
of  material  prosperity,  shall  we  not  still  hold  that  other 
magic  wand,  shadowy,  invisible,  but  more  compulsive 
than  scepters  of  gold  or  iron  —  the  scepter  of  literary, 
intellectual  and  artistic  dominion?  Or  will  you  wrest  5 
that  also  from  us?  May  we  not  rather  hope  to  see  both 
nations  united  in  a  great  assay  to  build  one  common 
monument  of  graceful,  wise,  beautiful,  dignified,  human 
existence  on  both  sides  the  Atlantic?  Your  nation 
has,  what  all  young  nations  have,  what  England  is  10 
losing,  the  power  to  be  moved  by  ideas,  and  that  divine 
resilient  quality  of  youth,  the  power  to  be  stirred  and 
frenzied  by  ideals.  If  a  guest  whom  you  have  honored 
so  much,  if  your  most  fervent  well-wisher  may  presume 
to  whisper  his  most  fervent  wishes  for  a  country  to  whom  15 
he  is  so  deeply  indebted,  he  would  say,  "  As  you  vie  with 
us  in  friendly  games  and  contests  of  boclily  strength, 
may  you  more  resolutely  vie  with  us  for  the  mastership 
in  art  and  in  the  ornament  of  life ;  build  statelier  homes, 
nobler  cities,  and  more  aspiring  temples  than  we  have  20 
built ;  let  your  lives  be  fuller  of  meaning  and  purpose 
than  ours  have  lately  been;  have  the  wisdom  richly 
to  endow  and  unceasingly  to  foster  all  the  arts,  and  all 
that  makes  for  majesty  of  life  and  character  rather  than 
for  material  prosperity  and  comfort.  Especially  foster  25 
and  honor  this  supreme  art  of  Shakespeare's,  so  much 
neglected  and  misunderstood  in  both  countries :  endow 
it  in  all  your  cities ;  build  handsome,  spacious  theaters : 
train  your  actors:  reward  your  dramatists,  sparingly 


266  Arguments 

with  fees,  but  lavishly  with  laurels;  bid  them  dare  to 
paint  American  life  sanely,  truthfully,  searchingly,  for 
you.  Dare  to  see  your  life  thus  painted.  Dare  to  let 
your  drama  ridicule  and  reprove  your  follies  and  vices 
and  deformities.  Dare  to  let  it  mock  and  whip,  as  5 
well  as  amuse,  you.  Dare  to  let  it  be  a  faithful  mirror. 
Make  it  one  of  your  chief  counsellors.  Set  it  on  the 
summit  of  your  national  esteem,  for  it  will  draw  upwards 
all  your  national  life  and  character ;  upwards  to  higher 
and  more  worthy  levels,  to  starry  heights  of  wisdom  10 
and  beauty  and  resolve  and  aspiration." 


IS  MUSIC  THE  TYPE  OR  MEASURE  OF  ALL 
ART?1 

JOHN  ADDINGTON  SYMONDS 

MR.  MATTHEW  ARNOLD'S  definition  of  poetry  as  "  at 
bottom  a  Criticism  of  Life,"  insisted  somewhat  too 
strenuously  on  the  purely  intellectual  and  moral  aspects 
of  art.     There  is  a  widely  different  way  of  regarding 
the  same  subject-matter,  which  finds  acceptance  with    5 
many  able  thinkers  of  the  present  time.     This  ignores 
the  criticism  of  life  altogether,  and  dwells  with  empha- 
sis upon  sensuous  presentation,  emotional  suggestion, 
and  technical  perfection,  as  the  central  and  essential 
qualities  of  art.     In  order  to  steer  a  safe  course  between  10 
the  Scylla  of  excessive  intellectuality  and  the  Charyb- 
dis  of  excessive  sensuousness,  it  will  be  well  to  examine 
what  a  delicate  and  philosophical  critic  has  published 
on  this  second  theory  of  the  arts.     With  this  object  in 
view,  I  choose  a  paper  by  Mr.  Walter  Pater  on  "The  15 
School  of  Giorgione."  2    The  opinion  that  art  has  a 
sphere  independent  of  intellectual  or  ethical  intention 
is  here  advocated  with  lucidity,  singular  charm  of  style, 
and  characteristic  reserve. 

1From  "Essays  Speculative    and   Suggestive."     London,  Smith, 
Elder  &  Co.     New  York,  Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 
2  Fortnightly  Review,  October,  1877. 
267 


268  Arguments 

Mr.  Pater  opens  the  discussion  by  very  justly  con- 
demning the  tendency  of  popular  critics  "to  regard  all 
products  of  art  as  various  forms  of  poetry."  "For 
this  criticism,"  he  says,  "poetry,  music,  and  painting 
are  but  translations  into  different  languages  of  one  and  5 
the  same  fixed  quantity  of  imaginative  thought,  supple- 
mented by  certain  technical  qualities  of  color  in  paint- 
ing, of  sound  in  music,  of  rhythmical  words  in  poetry." 
"In  this  way,"  he  adds,  "the  sensuous  element  in  art, 
and  with  it  almost  everything  in  art  that  is  essentially  10 
artistic,  is  made  a  matter  of  indifference."  He  then 
proceeds  to  point  out  that  each  of  the  fine  arts  has  its 
own  sphere,  its  own  untranslatable  mode  of  expres- 
sion, its  own  way  of  reaching  the  imaginative  reason 
through  the  senses,  its  own  special  responsibilities  to  its  15 
material. 

So  far,  every  intelligent  student  of  the  subject  will 
agree  with  him.  Nor  will  there  be  any  substantial  dif- 
ference of  opinion  as  to  the  second  point  on  which  he 
insists  —  namely,  that  each  of  the  arts,  while  pursuing  20 
its  own  object,  and  obeying  its  own  laws,  may  some- 
times assimilate  the  quality  of  a  sister-art.  This,  adopt- 
ing German  phraseology,  Mr.  Pater  terms  the  Anders- 
streben  of  an  art,  or  the  reaching  forward  from  its  own 
sphere  into  the  sphere  of  another  art.  We  are  familiar  25 
with  the  thought  that  Greek  dramatic  poetry  borrowed 
something  of  its  form  from  sculpture,  and  that  the  Italian 
romantic  epic  was  determined  to  a'  great  extent  by  the 
analogy  of  painting.  Nor  is  it  by  any  means  an  inno- 


Is  Music  the  Type  of  Art?  269 

vation  in  criticism  to  refer  all  the  artistic  products  of  a 
nation  to  some  dominant  fine  art,  for  which  that  nation 
possessed  a  special  aptitude,  and  which  consequently 
gave  color  and  complexion  to  its  whole  aesthetical  ac- 
tivity. Accordingly,  Mr.  Pater,  both  in  the  doctrine  of  5 
the  independence  of  each  art,  and  also  in  the  doctrine 
of  the  Anders-streben  of  one  art  toward  another,  advances 
nothing  which  excites  opposition. 

At  this  point,  however,  he  passes  into  a  region  of 
more  questionable  speculation.     Having  rebuked  popu-  10 
lar  criticism  for  using  poetry  as  the  standard  whereby 
to  judge  the  arts,  he  proceeds  to  make  a  similar  use  of 
music ;  for  he  lays  it  down  that  all  the  arts  in  common 
aspire  "  towards  the  principle  of  music,  music  being  the 
typical,  or  ideally  consummate  art,  the  object  of  the  15 
great  Anders-streben  of  all  art,  of  all  that  is  artistic,  or 
partakes  of  artistic  qualities." 

The  reason  for  this  assertion  is  stated  with  precision:1 

All  art  constantly  aspires  towards  the  condition  of  music.  For 
while  in  all  other  works  of  art  it  is  possible  to  distinguish  the  20 
matter  from  the  form,  and  the  understanding  can  always  make 
this  distinction,  yet  it  is  the  constant  effort  of  art  to  obliterate  it. 
That  the  mere  matter  of  a  poem,  for  instance,  its  subject,  its  given 
incidents  or  situation ;  that  the  mere  matter  of  a  picture,  the  actual 
circumstances  of  an  event,  the  actual  topography  of  a  landscape,  25 
should  be  nothing  without  the  form,  the  spirit  of  the  handling; 
that  this  form,  this  mode  of  handling,  should  become  an  end  in 
itself,  should  penetrate  every  part  of  the  matter;  this  is  what  all 
art  constantly  strives  after,  and  achieves  in  different  degrees. 

1  Fortnightly  Review,  p.  528.     The  italics  are  Mr.  Pater's. 


270  Arguments 

Having  illustrated  the  meaning  of  this  paragraph  by 
references  to  painting,  poetry,  furniture,  dress,  and  the 
details  of  daily  intercourse,  Mr.  Pater  proceeds  as 
follows : l  — 

Art,  then,  is  thus  always  striving  to  be  independent  of  the  mere     5 
intelligence,  to  become  a  matter  of  pure  perception,  to  get  rid  of 
its  responsibilities  to  its  subject  or  material;   the  ideal  examples 
of  poetry  and  painting  being  those  in  which  the  constituent  ele- 
ments of  the  composition  are  so  welded  together  that  the  material 
or  subject  no  longer  strikes  the  intellect  only;   nor  the  form,  the   10 
eye  or  ear  only;  but  form  and  matter,  in  their  union  or  identity, 
present  one  single  effect  to  the  imaginative  reason,  that  complex 
faculty  for  which  every  thought  and  feeling  is  twin-born  with  its 
sensible  analogue  or  symbol. 

It  is  the  art  of  music  which  most  completely  realises  this  artistic  15 
ideal,  this  perfect  identification  of  form  and  matter,  this  strange 
chemistry,  uniting,  in  the  integrity  of  pure  light,  contrasted  ele- 
ments.    In  its  ideal,  consummate  moments,  the  end  is  not  distinct 
from  the  means,  the  form  from  the  matter,  the  subject  from  the 
expression;    they  inhere  in  and  completely  saturate  each  other;  20 
and  to  it,  therefore,  to  the  condition  of  its  perfect  moments,  all  the 
arts  may  be  supposed  constantly  to  tend  and  aspire.    Music,  then, 
not  poetry,  as  is  so  often  supposed,  is  the  true  type  or  measure  of 
consummate  art.     Therefore,  although  each  art  has  its  incom- 
municable element,  its  untranslatable  order  of  impressions,  its  25 
unique  mode  of  reaching  the  imaginative  reason,  yet  the  arts  may 
be  represented  as  continually  struggling  after  the  law  or  principle 
of  music,  to  a  condition  which  music  alone  completely  realises; 
and  one  of  the  chief  functions  of  aesthetic  criticism,  dealing  with 
the  concrete  products  of  art,  new  or  old,  is  to  estimate  the  degree  30 
in  which  each  of  those  products  approaches  in  this  sense  to  musi- 
cal law. 

1  Fortnightly  Review,  p.  530. 


Is  Music  the  Type  of  Art?  271 

If  this  means  that  art,  as  art,  aspires  toward  a  com- 
plete absorption  of  the  matter  into  the  form  —  toward 
such  a  blending  of  the  animative  thought  or  emotion 
with  the  embodying  vehicle  that  the  shape  produced 
shall  be  the  only  right  and  perfect  manifestation  of  a  5 
spiritual  content  to  the  senses,  so  that,  while  we  con- 
template the  work,  we  cannot  conceive  their  separa- 
tion —  then  in  this  view  there  is  nothing  either  new 
or  perilous.  It  was  precisely  this  which  constituted 
the  consummate  excellence  of  Greek  sculpture.  The  10 
sculptor  found  so  apt  a  shape  for  the  expression  of  ideal 
personality,  that  his  marble  became  an  apocalypse  of 
godhood.  It  was  precisely  this,  again,  which  made 
the  poetry  of  Virgil  artistically  perfect.  In  the  words 
of  the  most  eloquent  of  VirgiPs  panegyrists:  "What  15 
is  meant  by  the  vague  praise  bestowed  on  VirgiPs  un- 
equalled style  is  practically  this,  that  he  has  been,  per- 
haps, more  successful  than  any  other  poet  in  fusing 
together  the  expressed  and  the  suggested  emotion ;  that 
he  has  discovered  the  hidden  music  which  can  give  to  20 
every  shade  of  feeling  its  distinction,  its  permanence, 
and  its  charm ;  that  his  thoughts  seem  to  come  to  us  on 
wings  of  melodies  prepared  for  them  from  the  founda- 
tion of  the  world."  l 

But  it  does  not    seem  that  Mr.  Pater  means  this  25 
only.     We  have  the  right  to  conclude  from  passages 
which  may  be  emphasised,  that  he  has  in  view  the  more 
questionable  notion  that  the  fine  arts  in  their  most  con- 

l"  Essays,  Classical,"  by  F.  W.  H.  Myers,  p.  115. 


272  Arguments 

summate  moments  all  aspire  toward  vagueness  of  intel- 
lectual intention  —  that  a  well-defined  subject  in  poetry 
and  painting  and  sculpture  is  a  hindrance  to  artistic 
quality  —  that  the  delight  of  the  eye  or  of  the  ear  is  of 
more  moment  than  the  thought  of  the  brain.     Art,  he    5 
says,  is  "  always  striving  to  be  independent  of  the  mere 
intelligence,  to  become  a  matter  of  pure  perception,  to 
get  rid  of  its  responsibilities  to  its  subject  or  material." 
"Lyrical  poetry/'  he  says,  "just  because  in  it  you  are 
least  able  to  detach  the  matter  from  the  form  without  10 
a  deduction  of  something  from  that  matter  itself,  is,  at 
least  artistically,  the  highest  and  most  complete  form 
of  poetry.     And  the  very  perfection  of  such  poetry  often 
seems  to  depend  in  part  on  a  certain  suppression  or 
vagueness  of  mere  subject,  so  that  the  definite  meaning  15 
almost  expires,  or  reaches  us  through  ways  not  distinctly 
traceable  by  the  understanding."  * 

This  is  ingenious;  and  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the 
theory  has  a  plausible  appearance.  Yet,  were  we  to 
carry  Mr.  Pater's  principles  to  their  logical  extremity,  20 
we  should  have  to  prefer  Pope's  "Verses  by  a  Person 
of  Quality"  to  the  peroration  of  the  "Dunciad,"  and  a 
noble  specimen  of  Japanese  screen  painting  to  Turner's 
Temeraire  or  Raphael's  School  of  Athens. 

So  far  as  the  art  of  poetry  goes,  he  seems  to  over-  25 
state  a  truth  which  is  finely  and  exactly  expressed  by 
Mr.  Myers  in  the  essay  on  Virgil  from  which  I  have  al- 

1  Fortnightly  Review,  p.  529.     Here  the  italics  are  not  Mr.  Pater's 
but  mine. 


Is  Music  the  Type  of  Art?  273 

ready  quoted.  The  passage  is  long ;  but  it  puts  so  well 
the  point  which  Mr.  Pater  has  perhaps  exaggerated, 
regarding  the  importance  of  the  sensuous  and  sug- 
gestive elements  in  poetry,  that  I  venture  to  think  my 
readers  will  be  glad  to  be  reminded  of  it :  *  —  5 

The  range  of  human  thoughts  and  emotions  greatly  transcends 
the  range  of  such  symbols  as  man  has  invented  to  express  them; 
and  it  becomes,  therefore,  the  business  of  Art  to  use  these  symbols 
in  a  double  way.  They  must  be  used  for  the  direct  representa- 
tion of  thought  and  feeling;  but  they  must  also  be  combined  by  10 
so  subtle  an  imagination  as  to  suggest  much  which  there  is  no 
means  of  directly  expressing.  And  this  can  be  done;  for  experi- 
ence shows  that  it  is  possible  so  to  arrange  forms,  colors,  and 
sounds  as  to  stimulate  the  imagination  in  a  new  and  inexplicable 
way.  This  power  makes  the  painter's  art  an  imaginative  as  well  15 
as  an  imitative  one;  and  gives  birth  to  the  art  of  the  musician, 
whose  symbols  are  hardly  imitative  at  all,  but  express  emotions 
which,  till  music  suggests  them,  have  been  not  only  unknown,  but 
unimaginable.  Poetry  is  both  an  imitative  and  an  imaginative 
art.  As  a  choice  and  condensed  form  of  emotional  speech,  it  pos-  20 
sesses  the  reality  which  depends  on  its  directly  recalling  our  pre- 
vious thoughts  and  feelings.  But  as  a  system  of  rhythmical  and 
melodious  effects  —  not  indebted  for  their  potency  to  their  asso- 
ciated idea  alone  —  it  appeals  also  to  that  mysterious  power  by 
which  mere  arrangements  of  sound  can  convey  an  emotion  which  25 
no  one  could  have  predicted  beforehand,  and  which  no  known 
laws  can  explain. 

And,  indeed,  in  poetry  of  the  first  order,  almost  every  word 
(to  use  a  mathematical  metaphor)  is  raised  to  a  higher  power. 
It  continues  to  be  an  articulate  sound  and  a  logical  step  in  the  30 
argument;   but  it  becomes  also  a  musical  sound  and  a  center  of 

l"  Essays,  Classical,"  pp.    113-115. 


274  Arguments 

emotional  force.  It  becomes  a  musical  sound  —  that  is  to  say, 
its  consonants  and  vowels  are  arranged  to  bear  a  relation  to  the 
consonants  and  vowels  near  it  —  a  relation  of  which  accent,  quan- 
tity, rhyme,  assonance,  and  alliteration  are  specialized  forms, 
but  which  may  be  of  a  character  more  subtle  than  any  of  these.  5 
And  it  becomes  a  center  of  emotional  force;  that  is  to  say,  the 
complex  associations  which  it  evokes  modify  the  associations 
evoked  by  other  words  in  the  same  passage  in  a  way  quite  distinct 
from  grammatical  or  logical  connection.  The  poet,  therefore, 
must  avoid  two  opposite  dangers.  If  he  thinks  too  exclusively  of  10 
the  music  and  the  coloring  of  his  verses  —  of  the  imaginative 
means  of  suggesting  thought  and  feeling  —  what  he  writes  will 
lack  reality  and  sense.  But  if  he  cares  only  to  communicate 
definite  thought  and  feeling  according  to  the  ordinary  laws  of 
eloquent  speech,  his  verse  is  likely  to  be  deficient  in  magical  and  15 
suggestive  power. 

This  is  right.  This  makes  equitable  allowance  for 
the  claims  alike  of  the  material  and  the  form  of  art  — 
the  intellectual  and  emotional  content,  the  sensuous  and 
artificial  embodiment.  20 

But  to  return  to  Mr.  Pater.  His  doctrine  that  art  is 
"  always  striving  to  be  independent  of  the  mere  intelli- 
gence," his  assertion  that  the  perfection  of  lyrical  poetry 
"  of  ten  seems  to  depend  in  part  on  a  certain  suppression 
or  vagueness  of  mere  subject,"  contradict  the  utterances  25 
of  the  greatest  craftsmen  in  the  several  arts  —  Milton's 
sublime  passages  on  the  function  of  Poetry;  Sidney's 
and  Shelley's  Defences  of  Poesy;  Goethe's  doctrine 
of  "the  motive";  Rossetti's  canon  that  "fundamental 
brain  work"  is  the  characteristic  of  all  great  art ;  Michael  30 
Angelo's  and  Beethoven's  observations  upon  their  own 


Is  Music  the  Type  of  Art?  275 

employment  of  sculpture  and  music.  Rigidly  applied, 
his  principles  would  tend  to  withdraw  art  from  the 
sphere  of  spirituality  altogether.  Yet,  considered  as 
paradoxes,  they  have  real  value,  inasmuch  as  they  re- 
call attention  to  the  sensuous  side  of  art,  and  direct  5 
the  mind  from  such  antagonistic  paradoxes  as  the  one 
propounded  by  Mr.  Matthew  Arnold  in  his  preface  to 
Wordsworth. 

It  is  difficult  to  see  in  what  way  Mr.  Pater  can  evade 
the  strictures  he  has  passed  upon  his  brethren,  the  pop-  10 
ular  critics.     Whether  a  man  selects  poetry  or  selects 
music  as  the  "true  type  or  measure  of  consummate  art/' 
to  which  "in  common  all  the  arts  aspire/'  will  depend 
doubtless    partly   upon   personal   susceptibilities,    and 
partly  upon  the  theory  he  has  formed  of  art  in  general.  15 
Both  the  popular  critics  and  Mr.  Pater  take  up  their 
position   upon   equally  debatable   ground.     The   case 
stands  thus.     Mr.   Pater  is  of  opinion  that  the  best 
poetry  is  that  in  which  there  is  the  least  appeal  to  "  mere 
intelligence/'  in  which  the  verbal  melody  and  the  sug-  20 
gestive  way  of  handling  it  are  more  important  than  the 
intellectual  content.     He  thinks  that  the  best  pictures 
are  those  in  which  the  "mere  subject "  is  brought  into 
the  least  prominence.     Holding  these  views,  he  selects 
music  as  the  "true  type  and  measure  of  consummate  25 
art."     Herein  he  is  consistent ;  for  music,  by  reason  of 
its  limitations,  is  the  least  adapted  of  all  arts  for  the  ex- 
pression of  an  intellectual  content.     The  popular  critic, 
on  the  other  hand,  is  of  opinion  that  the  best  poetry  is 


276  Arguments 

that  which  has  the  clearest,  the  most  human,  and  the 
most  impressive  motive.     He  thinks  that  the  best  pic- 
tures are  those  which,  besides  being  delightful  by  their 
drawing  and  color,  give  food  for  meditation  and  appeal 
to   mental   faculty.     Holding  these  views,    he  selects    5 
poetry  as  the  "true  type  and  measure  of  consummate 
art."     Herein  he  too  is  consistent ;  for  poetry,  by  reason 
of  its  limitations,  is  the  best  adapted  of  all  arts  for  ap-   ' 
pealing  to  intelligence  and  embodying  motives  with 
lucidity.  10 

Mr.  Pater  and  the  popular  critic  are  equally  right  or 
equally  wrong.  We  are,  in  fact,  confronting  two  differ- 
ent conceptions  of  art,  each  of  which  is  partial  and 
one-sided,  because  the  one  insists  too  strongly  on  the 
sensuous  form,  the  other  on  the  mental  stuff,  of  art.  15 

Suppose  a  man  does  not  accept  Mr.  Pater's  doctrine ; 
supposing  he  starts  from  another  point  of  view,  and 
demands  some  defined  conception  in  a  work  of  art  as 
well  as  a  sensuous  appeal  to  our  imaginative  reason; 
supposing  he  regards  art  in  its  highest  manifestation  as  20 
a  mode  of  utterance  for  what  is  spiritual  in  man,  as  a 
language  for  communicating  the  ideal  world  of  thought 
and  feeling  in  sensible  form ;  then  he  will  be  tempted 
to  select  not  music  but  poetry  as  his  type  and  measure. 
Thus  it  is  manifest  that  critics  who  refer  to  the  standard  25 
of  poetry,  and  critics  who  refer  to  the  standard  of  music, 
differ  in  this  mainly  that  they  hold  divergent  theories 
regarding  the  function  of  art  in  general. 

The  debatable  point   for  consideration  is  whether 


Is  Music  the  Type  of  Art?  277 

either  the  popular  critic  rebuked  by  Mr.  Pater  or  Mr. 
Pater  himself  can  legitimately  choose  one  of  the  arts 
as  the  "type  and  measure"  for  the  rest.  I  maintain 
that  both  are  expressing  certain  personal  predilections, 
whereby  the  abiding  relations  of  the  arts  run  some  5 
risk  of  being  overlooked.  What  the  matter  really  comes 
to  is  this :  while  the  one  proclaims  his  preference  for 
sensuous  results,  the  other  proclaims  a  preference  for 
defined  intelligible  content.  Each  does  violence  by  his 
selection  to  one  or  other  of  the  arts.  The  critic  who  de-  10 
mands  a  meaning  at  any  cost,  will  find  it  hard  to  account 
for  his  appreciation  of  music  or  architecture.  Mr. 
Pater,  in  order  to  complete  his  theory,  is  forced  to  de- 
preciate the  most  sublime  and  powerful  masterpieces 
of  poetry.  In  his  view  drama  and  epic  doff  their  caps  15 
before  a  song,  in  which  verbal  melody  and  the  communi- 
cation of  a  mood  usurp  upon  invention,  passion,  cere- 
bration, definite  meaning. 

Just  as  the  subjectivity  of  any  age  or  nation  erects 
one  art  into  the  measure  of  the  rest,  so  the  subjectivity  20 
of  a  particular  critic  will  induce  him  to  choose  poetry 
or  music,  or  it  may  be  sculpture,  as  his  standard.  The 
fact  remains  that  each  art  possesses  its  own  strength 
and  its  own  weakness,  and  that  no  one  of  the  arts,  singly 
and  by  itself,  achieves  the  whole  purpose  of  art.  That  25 
purpose  is  to  express  the  content  of  human  thought  and 
feeling  in  sensuously  beautiful  form  by  means  of  various 
vehicles,  imposing  various  restrictions,  and  implying 
various  methods  of  employment.  If  we  seek  the  maxi- 


278  Arguments 

mum  of  intelligibility,  we  find  it  in  poetry;  but  at  the 
same  time  we  have  here  the  minimum  of  immediate 
effect  upon  the  senses.  If  we  seek  the  maximum  of  sen- 
suous effect,  we  find  it  in  music ;  but  at  the  same  time 
we  have  here  the  minimum  of  appeal  to  intelligence.  5 
Architecture,  in  its  inability  to  express  definite  ideas, 
stands  next  to  music;  but  its  sensuous  influence  upon 
the  mind  is  feebler.  As  a  compensation,  it  possesses 
the  privilege  of  permanence,  of  solidity,  of  impressive 
magnitude,  of  undefinable  but  wonder-waking  symbol-  10 
ism.  Sculpture  owes  its  power  to  the  complete  and 
concrete  presentation  of  human  form,  to  the  perfect 
incarnation  of  ideas  in  substantial  shapes  of  bronze  or 
stone,  on  which  light  and  shadows  from  the  skies  can 
fall;  this  it  alone  of  all  the  arts  displays.  It  has  affin-  15 
ities  with  architecture  on  the  one  hand,  owing  to  the 
material  it  uses,  and  to  poetry  on  the  other,  owing  to 
the  intelligibility  of  its  motives.  Painting  is  remote 
from  architecture;  but  it  holds  a  place  where  sculp- 
ture, poetry,  and  music  let  their  powers  be  felt.  Though  20 
dependent  on  design,  it  can  tell  a  story  better  than 
sculpture  and  in  this  respect  painting  more  nearly  ap- 
proaches poetry.  It  can  communicate  a  mood  without 
relying  upon  definite  or  strictly  intelligible  motives ;  in 
this  respect  it  borders  upon  music.  Of  all  the  arts,  25 
painting  is  the  most  flexible,  the  most  mimetic,  the  most 
illusory.  It  cannot  satisfy  our  understanding  like 
poetry;  it  cannot  flood  our  souls  with  the  same  noble 
sensuous  joy  as  music;  it  cannot  present  such  perfect 


Is  Music  the  Type  of  Art?  279 

and  full  shapes  as  sculpture ;  it  cannot  affect  us  with  the 
sense  of  stability  or  with  the  mysterious  suggestions 
which  belong  to  architecture.  But  it  partakes  of  all  the 
other  arts  through  its  speciality  of  surface-delineation, 
and  adds  its  own  delightful  gift  of  color,  second  in  sen-  5 
suous  potency  only  to  sound. 

Such  is  the  prism  of  the  arts ;  each  distinct,  but  homo- 
geneous, and  tinctured  at  therr  edges  with  hues  bor- 
rowed from  the  sister-arts.     Their  differences  derive 
from  the  several  vehicles  they  are  bound  to  employ.  10 
Their  unity  is  the  spiritual  substance  which  they  ex- 
press in  common.     Abstract  beauty,  the  ISea  rov  /eaXoO, 
is  one  and  indivisible.     But  the  concrete  shapes  which 
manifest  this  beauty,  decompose  it,  just  as  the  prism 
analyzes   white   light    into    colors.     "Multae  terricolis  15 
linguae  coelestibus  una." 

It  is  by  virtue  of  this  separateness  and  by  virtue  of 
these  sympathies  that  we  are  justified  in  calling  the 
poetry  of  Sophocles  or  Landor,  the  painting  of  Michel 
Angelo  or  Mantegna,  the  music  of  Gluck  or  Cherubini,  20 
sculpturesque ;  Lorenzetti's  frescoes  and  Dante's  "  Para- 
diso,"  architectural;    Tintoretto's  Crucifixion  and  the 
Genius  of  the  Vatican,  poetical ;  Shelley's  lyrics  in  "  Pro- 
metheus Unbound  "  and  Titian's  Three  Ages,  musical; 
the  facade  of   the  Certosa  at  Pavia,  pictorial ;  and  so  25 
forth,  as  suggestion  and  association  lead  us. 

But  let  it  be  remembered  that  this  discrimination  of  an 
Anders-streben  in  the  arts,  is  after  all  but  fanciful.  It  is 
at  best  a  way  of  expressing  our  sense  of  somethingsubjec- 


280  Arguments 

tive  in  the  styles  of  artists  or  of  epochs,  not  of  something 
in  the  arts  themselves.  Let  it  be  still  more  deeply  re- 
membered that  if  we  fix  upon  any  one  art  as  the  type 
and  measure  for  the  rest,  we  are  either  indulging  a  per- 
sonal partiality,  or  else  uttering  an  arbitrary,  and  there-  5 
fore  inconclusive,  aesthetical  hypothesis.  The  main 
fact  to  bear  steadily  in  mind  is  that  beauty  is  the  sen- 
suous manifestation  of  the  idea — that  is,  of  the  spiritual 
element  in  man  and  in  the  world  —  and  that  the  arts, 
each  in  its  own  way,  convey  this  beauty  to  our  per-  10 
cipient  self.  We  have  to  abstain  on  the  one  hand 
from  any  theory  which  emphasizes  the  didactic  func- 
tion of  art,  and  on  the  other  from  any  theory,  however 
plausible,  which  diverts  attention  from  the  one  cardi- 
nal truth :  namely,  that  fine  and  liberal  art,  as  dis-  15 
tinguished  from  mechanical  art  or  the  arts  of  the 
kitchen  and  millinery,  exists  for  the  embodiment  of 
thought  and  emotion  in  forms  of  various  delightfulness, 
appealing  to  what  has  been  called  the  imaginative  rea- 
son, that  complex  faculty  which  is  neither  mere  under-  20 
standing  nor  mere  sense,  by  means  of  divers  sensuous 
suggestions,  and  several  modes  of  concrete  presentation. 


REFUTATION 


GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS 

BUT,  gentlemen,  when  you  come  to  address  your- 
selves to  these  primary  public  duties,  your  first  surprise 
and  dismay  will  be  the  discovery  that,  in  a  country 
where  education  is  declared  to  be  the  hope  of  its  institu- 
tions, the  higher  education  is  often  practically  held  to  be    5 
almost  a  disadvantage.     You  will  go  from  these  halls 
to  hear  a  very  common  sneer  at  college-bred  men  — 
to  encounter  a  jealousy  of  education  as  making  men 
visionary  and  pedantic  and  impracticable  —  to  confront 
a  belief  that  there  is  something  enfeebling  in  the  higher  10 
education,  and  that  self-made  men,  as  they  are  called, 
are  the  sure  stay  of  the  State.     But  what  is  really  meant 
by  a  self-made  man  ?     It  is  a  man  of  native  sagacity  and 
strong  character,  who  was  taught,  it  is  proudly  said, 
only  at  the  plow  or  the  anvil  or  the  bench.     He  was  15 
schooled  by  adversity,  and  was  polished  by  hard  at- 
trition with  men.     He  is  Benjamin  Franklin,  the  printer's 
boy,  or  Abraham  Lincoln,  the  rail-splitter.     They  never 
went  to  college,  but  nevertheless,  like  Agamemnon,  they 
were  kings  of  men,  and  the  world  blesses  their  memory.  20 

281 


282  Refutation 

So  it  does;   but  the  sophistry  here  is  plain  enough, 
although  it  is  not  always  detected.     Great  genius  and 
force  of  character  undoubtedly  make  their  own  career. 
But  because  Walter  Scott  was  dull  at  school,  is  a  parent 
to  see  with  joy  that  his  son  is  a  dunce?    Because  Lord    5 
Chatham  was  of  a  towering  conceit,  must  we  infer  that 
pompous  vanity  portends  a  comprehensive  statesman- 
ship that  will  fill  the  world  with  the  splendor  of  its 
triumphs?     Because  Sir  Robert  Walpole  gambled  and 
swore  and  boozed  at  Houghton,  are  we  to  suppose  that  10 
gross  sensuality  and  coarse  contempt  of  human  nature 
are  the  essential  secrets  of  a  power  that  defended  liberty 
against  tory  intrigue  and  priestly  politics?     Was  it  be- 
cause Benjamin  Franklin  was  not  college-bred  that  he 
drew  the  lightning  from  heaven  and  tore  the  scepter  15 
from  the  tyrant  ?    Was  it  because  Abraham  Lincoln  had 
little  schooling  that  his  great  heart  beat  true  to  God  and 
man,  lifting  him  to  free  a  race  and  die  for  his  country? 
Because  men  naturally  great  have  done  great  service  in 
the  world  without  advantages,  does  it  follow  that  lack  of  20 
advantage  is  the  secret  of  success  ?    Was  Pericles  a  less 
sagacious  leader  of  the  State,  during  forty  years  of  Athe- 
nian glory,  because  he  was  thoroughly  accomplished  in 
every  grace  of  learning?     Or,  swiftly  passing  from  the 
Athenian  agora  to  the  Boston  town  meeting,  behold  25 
Samuel  Adams,  tribune  of  New  England  against  Old 
England  —  of   America   against    Europe  —  of   liberty 
against  despotism.     Was  his  power-enfeebled,  his  fervor 
chilled,  his  patriotism  relaxed,  by  his  college  education  ? 


Refutation  283 

No,  no;  they  were  strengthened,  kindled,  confirmed. 
Taking  his  Master's  Degree  one  hundred  and  thirty- 
four  years  ago,  thirty-three  years  before  the  Dec- 
laration of  Independence,  Samuel  Adams,  then 
twenty-one  years  old,  declared  in  a  Latin  discourse —  5 
the  first  flashes  of  the  fire  that  blazed  afterward 
in  Faneuil  Hall  and  kindled  America  —  that  it  is 
lawful  to  resist  the  supreme  magistrate  if  the  common- 
wealth cannot  otherwise  be  preserved.  In  the  very  year 
that  Jefferson  was  born,  the  college  boy,  Samuel  Adams,  10 
on  a  Commencement  day  like  this,  on  an  academical 
platform  like  this  on  which  we  stand,  struck  the  key-note 
of  American  independence,  which  still  stirs  the  heart  of 
man  with  its  music. 

Or,  within  our  own  century,  look  at  the  great  modern  15 
statesmen  who  have  shaped  the  politics  of  the  world. 
They  were  educated  men ;  were  they  therefore  visionary, 
pedantic,  impracticable?     Cavour,  whose  monument  is 
United  Italy  —  one  from  the  Alps  to  Tarentum,  from  the 
lagunes  of  Venice  to  the  gulf  of  Salerno :  Bismarck,  who  20 
has  raised  the  German  empire  from  a  name  to  a  fact : 
Gladstone,  to-day  the  incarnate  heart  and  conscience  of 
England :  they  are  the  perpetual  refutation  of  the  sneer 
that  high  education  weakens  men  for  practical  affairs. 
Trained  themselves,  such  men  know  the  value  of  train-  25 
ing.     All  countries,  all  ages,  all  men,  are  their  teachers. 
The  broader  their  education,  the  wider  the  horizon  of 
their  thought  and  observation,  the  more  affluent  their 
resources,  the  more  humane  their  policy.    Would  Samuel 


284  Refutation 

Adams  have  been  a  truer  popular  leader  had  he  been  less 
an  educated  man  ?  Would  Walpole  the  less  truly  have 
served  his  country  had  he  been,  with  all  his  capacities, 
a  man  whom  England  could  have  revered  and  loved  ? 
Could  Gladstone  so  sway  England  with  his  serene  elo-  5 
quence,  as  the  moon  the  tides,  were  he  a  gambling, 
swearing,  boozing  squire  like  Walpole?  There  is  no 
sophistry  more  poisonous  to  the  State,  no  folly  more 
stupendous  and  demoralizing,  than  the  notion  that  the 
purest  character  and  the  highest  education  are  in-  10 
compatible  with  the  most  commanding  mastery  of  men 
and  the  most  efficient  administration  of  affairs. 

—  "The  Public  Duly  of  Educated  Men." 


II 

MACAULAY 

I  BELIEVE,  sir,  that  it  is  the  right  and  the  duty  of  the 
State  to  provide  means  of  education  for  the  common 
people.  This  proposition  seems  to  me  to  be  implied  in 
every  definition  that  has  ever  yet  been  given  of  the 
functions  of  a  government.  About  the  extent  of  those  5 
functions  there  has  been  much  difference  of  opinion 
among  ingenious  men.  There  are  some  who  hold  that  it 
is  the  business  of  a  government  to  meddle  with  every 
part  of  the  system  of  human  life,  to  regulate  trade  by 
bounties  and  prohibitions,  to  regulate  expenditure  by  10 
sumptuary  laws,  to  regulate  literature  by  a  censorship, 
to  regulate  religion  by  an  inquisition.  Others  go  to 
the  opposite  extreme,  and  assign  to  Government  a  very 
narrow  sphere  of  action.  But  the  very  narrowest  sphere 
that  ever  was  assigned  to  governments  by  any  school  of  15 
political  philosophy  is  quite  wide  enough  for  my  purpose. 
On  one  point  all  the  disputants  are  agreed.  They 
unanimously  acknowledge  that  it  is  the  duty  of  every 
government  to  take  order  for  giving  security  to  the  per- 
sons and  property  of  the  members  of  the  community.  20 


285 


286  Refutation 

This  then  is  my  argument.  It  is  the  duty  of  Gov- 
ernment to  protect  our  persons  and  property  from 
danger.  The  gross  ignorance  of  the  common  people 
is  a  principal  cause  of  danger  to  our  persons  and 
property.  Therefore,  it  is  the  duty  of  the  Government  5 
to  take  care  that  the  common  people  shall  not  be 
grossly  ignorant. 

And  what  is  the  alternative?  It  is  universally 
allowed  that,  by  some  means,  Government  must  pro- 
tect our  persons  and  property.  If  you  take  away  educa-  10 
tion,  what  means  do  you  leave  ?  You  leave  means  such 
as  only  necessity  can  justify,  means  which  inflict  a  fearful 
amount  of  pain,  not  only  on  the  guilty,  but  on  the  in- 
nocent who  are  connected  with  the  guilty.  You  leave 
guns  and  bayonets,  stocks  and  whipping  posts,  tread-  15 
mills,  solitary  cells,  penal  colonies,  gibbets.  See  then 
how  the  case  stands.  Here  is  an  end  which,  as  we  all 
agree,  governments  are  bound  to  attain.  There  are 
only  two  ways  of  attaining  it.  One  of  those  ways  is  by 
making  men  better  and  wiser  and  happier.  The  other  20 
way  is  by  making  them  infamous  and  miserable.  Can  it 
be  doubted  which  we  ought  to  prefer  ?  Is  it  not  strange, 
is  it  not  almost  incredible,  that  pious  and  benevolent  men 
should  gravely  propound  the  doctrine  that  the  magis- 
trate is  bound  to  punish  and  at  the  same  time  bound  25 
not  to  teach  ?  To  me  it  seems  quite  clear  that  who- 
ever has  a  right  to  hang  has  a  right  to  educate.  Can 
we  think  without  shame  and  remorse  that  more  than 
half  of  those  wretches  who  have  been  tied  up  at 


Refutation  287 

Newgate  in  our  time  might  have  been  living  happily, 
that  more  than  half  of  those  who  are  now  in  our  gaols 
might  have  been  enjoying  liberty  and  using  that  liberty 
well,  that  such  a  hell  on  earth  as  Norfolk  Island  need 
never  have  existed,  if  we  had  expended  in  training 
honest  men  but  a  small  part  of  what  we  have  expended 
in  hunting  and  torturing  rogues  ? 

—  Speech  on  Education. 


Ill1 

LOWELL 

WE  cannot  but  think  that  there  is  something  like  a 
fallacy  in  Mr.  Buckle's  theory  that  the  advance  of  man- 
kind is  necessarily  in  the  direction  of  science,  and  not 
in  that  of  morals.  No  doubt  the  laws  of  morals  existed 
from  the  beginning,  but  so  also  did  those  of  science,  and  5 
it  is  by  the  application,  not  the  mere  recognition,  of 
both  that  the  race  is  benefited.  No  one  questions  how 
much  science  has  done  for  our  physical  comfort  and 
convenience,  and  with  the  mass  of  men  these  perhaps 
must  of  necessity  precede  the  quickening  of  their  moral  10 
instincts;  but  such  material  gains  are  illusory,  unless 
they  go  hand  in  hand  with  a  corresponding  ethical  ad- 
vance. The  man  who  gives  his  life  for  a  principle  has 
done  more  for  his  kind  than  he  who  discovers  a  new 
metal  or  names  a  new  gas,  for  the  great  motors  of  the  15 
race  are  moral,  not  intellectual,  and  their  force  lies 
ready  to  the  use  of  the  poorest  and  weakest  of  us  all. 
We  accept  a  truth  of  science  so  soon  as  it  is  demon- 
strated, are  perfectly  willing  to  take  it  on  authority, 
can  appropriate  whatever  use  there  may  be  in  it  without  20 
the  least  understanding  of  its  processes,  as  men  send 
messages  by  the  electric  telegraph ;  t>ut  every  truth  of 

1  Reprinted  by  permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Company. 
288 


Refutation  289 

morals  must  be  redemonstrated  in  the  experience  of  the 
individual  man  before  he  is  capable  of  utilizing  it  as  a 
constituent  of  character  or  a  guide  in  action.  A  man 
does  not  receive  the  statements  that  "two  and  two 
make  four,"  and  that  "the  pure  in  heart  shall  see  5 
God,"  on  the  same  terms.  The  one  can  be  proved  to 
him  with  four  grains  of  corn;  he  can  never  arrive  at 
a  belief  in  the  other  till  he  realize  it  in  the  intimate 
persuasion  of  his  whole  being.  This  is  typified  in  the 
mystery  of  the  incarnation.  The  divine  reason  must  10 
forever  manifest  itself  anew  in  the  lives  of  men,  and 
that  as  individuals.  This  atonement  with  God,  this 
identification  of  the  man  with  the  truth,  so  that  right 
action  shall  not  result  from  the  lower  reason  of  utility, 
but  from  the  higher  of  a  will  so  purified  of  self  as  to.  15 
sympathize  by  instinct  with  the  eternal  laws,  is  not  some- 
thing that  can  be  done  once  for  all,  that  can  become 
historic  and  traditional,  a  dead  flower  pressed  between 
the  leaves  of  the  family  Bible,  but  must  be  renewed 
in  every  generation,  and  in  the  soul  of  every  man,  that  20 
it  may  be  valid. 

—  "  Literary  Essays." 


IV1 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

AND  now,  if  they  would  listen  —  as  I  suppose  they 
will  not  —  I  would  address  a  few  words  to  the  Southern 
people. 

You  say  we  are  sectional.     We  deny  it.    That  makes 
an  issue;   and  the  burden  of  proof  is  upon  you.     You    5 
produce  your  proof;   and  what  is  it?    Why,  that  our 
party  has  no  existence  in  your  section  —  gets  no  votes 
in  your  section.     The  fact  is  substantially  true;    but 
does  it  prove  the  issue?    If  it  does,  then  in  case  we 
should,  without  change  of  principle,  begin  to  get  votes  10 
in  your  section,  we  should  thereby  cease  to  be  sectional. 
You  cannot  escape  this  conclusion;    and  yet,  are  you 
willing  to  abide  by  it?     If  you  are,  you  will  probably 
soon  find  that  we  have  ceased  to  be  sectional,  for  we 
shall  get  votes  in  your  section  this  very  year.     You  will  15 
then  begin  to  discover,  as  the  truth  plainly  is,  that  your 
proof  does  not  touch  the  issue.     The  fact  that  we  get  no 
votes  in  your  section  is  a  fact  of  your  making,  and  not 
of  ours.     And  if  there  be  fault  in  that  fact,  that  fault  is 
primarily  yours,  and  remains  so  until  you  show  that  we  20 
repel  you  by  some  wrong  principle  or  practice.     If  we 
do  repel  you  by  any  wrong  principle  or  practice,  the 

1  Reprinted  by  permission  from  the  Hay  and  Nicolay  edition  of 
Lincoln's  Works.  New  York,  The  Century  Company. 

290 


Refutation  291 

fault  is  ours;  but  this  brings  you  to  where  you  ought 
to  have  started  —  to  a  discussion  of  the  right  or  wrong 
of  our  principle.  If  our  principle,  put  in  practice, 
would  wrong  your  section  for  the  benefit  of  ours,  or  for 
any  other  object,  then  our  principle,  and  we  with  it,  5 
are  sectional,  and  are  justly  opposed  and  denounced 
as  such.  Meet  us,  then,  on  the  question  of  whether 
our  principle,  put  in  practice,  would  wrong  your  sec- 
tion ;  and  so  meet  us  as  if  it  were  possible  that  some- 
thing may  be  said  on  our  side.  Do  you  accept  the  10 
challenge  ?  No !  Then  you  really  believe  that  the 
principle  which  "our  fathers  who  framed  the  govern- 
ment under  which  we  live"  thought  so  clearly  right  as 
to  adopt  it,  and  indorse  it  again  and  again,  upon  their 
official  oaths,  is  in  fact  so  clearly  wrong  as  to  demand  15 
your  condemnation  without  a  moment's  consideration. 
Some  of  you  delight  to  flaunt  in  our  faces  the  warning 
against  sectional  parties  given  by  Washington  in  his 
Farewell  Address.  Less  than  eight  years  before  Wash- 
ington gave  that  warning,  he  had,  as  President  of  the  20 
United  States,  approved  and  signed  an  act  of  Congress 
enforcing  the  prohibition  of  slavery  in  the  Northwest- 
ern Territory,  which  act  embodied  the  policy  of  the 
government  upon  that  subject  up  to  and  at  the  very 
moment  he  penned  that  warning ;  and  about  one  year  25 
after  he  penned  it,  he  wrote  Lafayette  that  he  con- 
sidered that  prohibition  a  wise  measure,  expressing  in 
the  same  connection  his  hope  that  we  should  at  some 
time  have  a  confederacy  of  free  States. 


2g  2  Refutation 

Bearing  this  in  mind,  and  seeing  that  sectionalism 
has  since  arisen  upon  this  same  subject,  is  that  warn- 
ing a  weapon  in  your  hands  against  us,  or  in  our 
hands  against  you  ?  Could  Washington  himself  speak, 
would  he  cast  the  blame  of  that  sectionalism  upon  us,  5 
who  sustain  his  policy,  or  upon  you,  who  repudiate  it  ? 
We  respect  that  warning  of  Washington,  and  we  com- 
mend it  to  you,  together  with  his  example  pointing  to 
the  right  application  of  it. 

But  you  say  you  are  conservative  —  eminently  con-  10 
servative  —  while  we  are    revolutionary,    destructive, 
or  something  of  the  sort.     What  is  conservatism?    Is 
it  not  adherence  to  the  old  and  tried,  against  the  new 
and  untried?    We  stick  to,  contend  for,  the  identical 
old  policy  on  the  point  in  controversy  which  was  adopted  15 
by  "our  fathers  who  framed  the  government   under 
which  we  live";  while  you  with  one  accord  reject,  and 
scout,  and  spit  upon  that  old  policy,  and  insist  upon 
substituting  something  new.     True,  you  disagree  among 
yourselves  as  to  what  that  substitute  shall  be.     You  20 
are  divided  on  new  propositions  and  plans,  but  you  are 
unanimous  in  rejecting  and  denouncing  the  old  policy 
of  the  fathers.     Some  of  you  are  for  reviving  the  foreign 
slave  trade ;  some  for  a  congressional  slave  code  for  the 
Territories;    some  for  Congress  forbidding  the  Terri-  25 
tories  to  prohibit  slavery  within  their  limits ;   some  for 
maintaining  slavery  in  the  Territories  through  the  ju- 
diciary;  some  for  the  "gur-reat  pur-rinciple "  that  "if 
one  man  would  enslave  another,  no  third  man  should 


Refutation  293 

object,"  fantastically  called  "popular  sovereignty"; 
but  never  a  man  among  you  is  in  favor  of  Federal  pro- 
hibition of  slavery  in  Federal  Territories,  according  to 
the  practice  of  "our  fathers  who  framed  the  govern- 
ment under  which  we  live."  Not  one  of  all  your  vari- 
ous plans  can  show  a  precedent  or  an  advocate  in  the 
century  within  which  our  government  originated.  Con- 
sider, then,  whether  your  claim  of  conservatism  for  your- 
selves, and  your  charge  of  destructiveness  against  us, 
are  based  on  the  most  clear  and  stable  foundations. 

—  Speech  at  Cooper  Institute. 


CONTROVERSY 

SCIENCE   AND   CULTURE1 
THOMAS  H.  HUXLEY 

FROM  the  time  that  the  first  suggestion  to  introduce 
physical  science  into  ordinary  education  was  timidly 
whispered,  until  now,  the  advocates  of  scientific  educa- 
tion have  met  with  opposition  of  two  kinds.  On  the  one 
hand,  they  have  been  pooh-poohed  by  the  men  of  busi-  5 
ness  who  pride  themselves  on  being  the  representa- 
tives of  practicality ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  they  have 
been  excommunicated  by  the  classical  scholars,  in 
their  capacity  of  Levites  in  charge  of  the  ark  of  culture 
and  monopolists  of  liberal  education.  10 

The  practial  men  believed  that  the  idol  whom  they 
worship  —  rule  of  thumb  —  has  been  the  source  of  the 
past  prosperity,  and  will  suffice  for  the  future  welfare 
of  the  arts  and  manufactures.  They  were  of  opinion 
that  science  is  speculative  rubbish;  that  theory  and  15 
practice  have  nothing  to  do  with  one  another;  and 
that  the  scientific  habit  of  mind  is  an  impediment,  rather 
than  an  aid,  in  the  conduct  of  ordinary  affairs. 

I  have  used  the  past  tense  in  speaking  of  the  practical 

1  Reprinted  from  Huxley's  "  Science  and  Education,'*  by  special 
permission  of  D.  Appleton  &  Company. 

294 


Science  and  Culture  295 

men  —  for  although  they  were  very  formidable  thirty 
years  ago,  I  am  not  sure  that  the  pure  species  has  not 
been  extirpated.  In  fact,  so  far  as  mere  argument  goes, 
they  have  been  subjected  to  such  a,  feu  d'enferth&t  it  is  a 
miracle  if  any  have  escaped.  But  I  have  remarked  that  5 
your  typical  practical  man  has  an  unexpected  resem- 
blance to  one  of  Milton's  angels.  His  spiritual  wounds, 
such  as  are  inflicted  by  logical  weapons,  may  be  as  deep 
as  a  well  and  as  wide  as  a  church  door,  but  beyond  shed- 
ding a  few  drops  of  ichor,  celestial  or  otherwise,  he  is  10 
no  whit  the  worse.  So,  if  any  of  these  opponents  be 
left,  I  will  not  waste  time  in  vain  repetition  of  the 
demonstrative  evidence  of  the  practical  value  of  science ; 
but  knowing  that  a  parable  will  sometimes  penetrate 
where  syllogisms  fail  to  effect  an  entrance,  I  will  15 
offer  a  story  for  their  consideration. 

Once  upon  a  time,  a  boy,  with  nothing  to  depend 
upon  but  his  own  vigorous  nature,  was  thrown  into  the 
thick  of  the  struggle  for  existence  in  the  midst  of  a  great 
manufacturing  population.     He  seems  to  have  had  a  20 
hard  fight,  inasmuch  as,  by  the  time  he  was  thirty  years 
of  age,  his  total  disposable  funds  amounted  to  twenty 
pounds.     Nevertheless,  middle  life  found  him  giving 
proof  of  his  comprehension  of  the  practical  problems  he 
had  been  roughly  called  upon  to  solve,  by  a  career  of  25 
remarkable  prosperity. 

Finally,  having  reached  old  age  with  its  well-earned 
surroundings  of  "honor,  troops  of  friends,"  the  hero  of 
my  story  bethought  himself  of  those  who  were  making 


296  Controversy 

a  like  start  in  life,  and  how  he  could  stretch  out  a  help- 
ing hand  to  them. 

After  long  and  anxious  reflection  this  successful 
practical  man  of  business  could  devise  nothing  better 
than  to  provide  them  with  the  means  of  obtaining  5 
" sound,  extensive,  and  practical  scientific  knowledge." 
And  he  devoted  a  large  part  of  his  wealth  and  five  years 
of  incessant  work  to  this  end. 

I  need  not  point  the  moral  of  a  tale  which,  as  the 
solid  and  spacious  fabric  of  the  Scientific  College  assures  10 
us,  is  no  fable,  nor  can  anything  which  I  could  say  in- 
tensify the  force  of  this  practical  answer  to  practical 
objections. 

We  may  take  it  for  granted,  then,  that,  in  the  opinion 
of  those  best  qualified  to  judge,  the  diffusion  of  thorough  15 
scientific  education  is  an  absolutely  essential  condition 
of  industrial  progress;  and  that  the  College  which  has 
been  opened  to-day  will  confer  an  inestimable  boon 
upon  those  whose  livelihood  is  to  be  gained  by  the  prac- 
tice of  the  arts  and  manufactures  of  the  district.  20 

The  only  question  worth  discussion  is,  whether  the 
conditions,  under  which  the  work  of  the  College  is  to  be 
carried  out,  are  such  as  to  give  it  the  best  possible  chance 
of  achieving  permanent  success. 

Sir  Josiah  Mason,  without  doubt  most  wisely,  has  left  25 
very  large  freedom  of  action  to  the  trustees,  to  whom  he 
proposes  ultimately  to  commit  the  administration  of  the 
College,  so  that  they  may  be  able  to  adjust  its  arrange-: 


Science  and  Culture  297 

ments  in  accordance  with  the  changing  conditions  of  the 
future.  But,  with  respect  to  three  points,  he  has  laid 
most  explicit  injunctions  upon  both  administrators  and 
teachers. 

Party  politics  are  forbidden  to  enter  into  the  minds  of  5 
either,  so  far  as  the  work  of  the  College  is  concerned ; 
theology  is  as  sternly  banished  from  its  precincts ;  and 
finally,  it  is  especially  declared*  that  the  College  shall 
make  no  provision  for  "mere  literary  instruction  and 
education."  10 

It  does  not  concern  me  at  present  to  dwell  upon  the 
first  two  injunctions  any  longer  than  may  be  needful  to 
express  my  full  conviction  of  their  wisdom.  But  the 
third  prohibition  brings  us  face  to  face  with  those  other 
opponents  of  scientific  education,  who  are  by  no  15 
means  in  the  moribund  condition  of  the  practical  man, 
but  alive,  alert,  and  formidable. 

It  is  not  impossible  that  we  shall  hear  this  express 
exclusion  of  " literary  instruction  and  education"  from 
a  College  which,  nevertheless,  professes  to  give  a  high  20 
and  efficient  education,  sharply  criticised.  Certainly 
the  time  was  that  the  Levites  of  culture  would  have 
sounded  their  trumpets  against  its  walls  as  against  an 
educational  Jericho. 

How  often  have  we  not  been  told  that  the  study  of  25 
physical  science  is  incompetent  to  confer  culture ;  that  it 
touches  none  of  the  higher  problems  of  life ;  and,  what 
is  worse,  that  the  continual  devotion  to  scientific  studies 
tends  to  generate  a  narrow  and  bigoted  belief  in  the 


298  Controversy 

applicability  of  scientific  methods  to  the  search  after 
truth  of  all  kinds  ?  How  frequently  one  has  reason  to 
observe  that  no  reply  to  a  troublesome  argument  tells 
so  well  as  calling  its  author  a  "  mere  scientific  specialist." 
And,  as  I  am  afraid  it  is  not  permissible  to  speak  of  this  5 
form  of  opposition  to  scientific  education  in  the  past 
tense,  may  we  not  expect  to  be  told  that  this,  not  only 
omission,  but  prohibition,  of  "mere  literary  instruction 
and  education "  is  a  patent  example  of  scientific  nar- 
row-mindedness ?  10 

I  am  not  acquainted  with  Sir  Josiah  Mason's  reasons 
for  the  action  which  he  has  taken ;  but  if,  as  I  apprehend 
is  the  case,  he  refers  to  the  ordinary  classical  course  of 
our  schools  and  universities  by  the  name  of  "mere 
literary  instruction  and  education,"  I  venture  to  offer  15 
sundry  reasons  of  my  own  in  support  of  that  action. 

For  I  hold  very  strongly  by  two  convictions  —  The 
first  is,  that  neither  the  discipline  nor  the  subject-matter 
of  classical  education  is  of  such  direct  value  to  the  stu- 
dent of  physical  science  as  to  justify  the  expenditure  of  20 
valuable  time  upon  either ;  and  the  second  is,  that  for 
the  purpose  of  attaining  real  culture,  an  exclusively 
scientific  education  is  at  least  as  effectual  as  an  exclu- 
sively literary  education. 

I  need  hardly  point  out  to  you  that  these  opinions,  25 
especially  the  latter,  are  diametrically  opposed  to  those 
of  the  great  majority  of  educated  Englishmen,  influ- 
enced as  they  are  by  school  and  university  traditions. 
In  their  belief,  culture  is  obtainable  only  by  a  liberal 


Science  and  Culture  299 

education ;  and  a  liberal  education  is  synonymous,  not 
merely  with  education  and  instruction  in  literature,  but 
in  one  particular  form  of  literature,  namely,  that  of 
Greek  and  Roman  antiquity.  They  hold  that  the  man 
who  has  learned  Latin  and  Greek,  however  little,  is  5 
educated ;  while  he  who  is  versed  in  other  branches  of 
knowledge,  however  deeply,  is  a  more  or  less  respectable 
specialist,  not  admissible  into  the  cultured  caste.  The 
stamp  of  the  educated  man,  the  University  degree,  is  not 
for  him.  10 

I  am  too  well  acquainted  with  the  generous  catholic- 
ity of  spirit  which  pervades  the  writings  of  our  chief 
apostle  of  culture  to  identify  him  with  these  opinions ; 
and  yet  one  may  cull  from  one  and  another  of  those 
epistles  to  the  Philistines,  which  so  much  delight  all  who  15 
do  not  answer  to  that  name,  sentences  which  lend  them 
some  support. 

Mr.  Arnold  tells  us  that  the  meaning  of  culture  is  "to 
know  the  best  that  has  been  thought  and  said  in  the 
world."  It  is  the  criticism  of  life  contained  in  literature.  20 
That  criticism  regards  "  Europe  as  being,  for  intellectual 
and  spiritual  purposes,  one  great  confederation,  bound 
to  a  joint  action  and  working  to  a  common  result ;  and 
whose  members  have,  for  their  common  outfit,  a  knowl- 
edge of  Greek,  Roman,  and  Eastern  antiquity,  and  of  25 
one  another.  Special,  local,  and  temporary  advantages 
being  put  out  of  account,  that  modern  nation  will  in 
the  intellectual  and  spiritual  sphere  make  most  progress, 
which  most  thoroughly  carries  out  this  programme. 


300  Controversy 

And  what  is  that  but  saying  that  we  too,  all  of  us,  as 
individuals,  the  more  thoroughly  we  carry  it  out,  shall 
make  the  more  progress  ?"  * 

We  have  here  to  deal  with  two  distinct  propositions. 
The  first,  that  a  criticism  of  life  is  the  essence  of  culture ;    5 
the  second,  that  literature  contains  the  materials  which 
suffice  for  the  construction  of  such  criticism. 

I  think  that  we  must  all  assent  to  the  first  proposition. 
For  culture  certainly  means  something  quite  different 
from  learning  or  technical  skill.  It  implies  the  posses-  10 
sion  of  an  ideal,  and  the  habit  of  critically  estimating  the 
value  of  things  by  comparison  with  a  theoretic  standard. 
Perfect  culture  should  supply  a  complete  theory  of  life, 
based  upon  a  clear  knowledge  alike  of  its  possibilities 
and  of  its  limitations.  15 

But  we  may  agree  to  all  this,  and  yet  strongly  dissent 
from  the  assumption  that  literature  alone  is  competent 
to  supply  this  knowledge.  After  having  learned  all  that 
Greek,  Roman,  and  Eastern  antiquity  have  thought  and 
said,  and  all  that  modern  literatures  have  to  tell  us,  it  is  20 
not  self-evident  that  we  have  laid  a  sufficiently  broad 
and  deep  foundation  for  that  criticism  of  life,  which 
constitutes  culture. 

Indeed,  to  any  one  acquainted  with  the  scope  of  physi- 
cal science,  it  is  not  at  all  evident.     Considering  progress  25 
only  in  the  "intellectual  and  spiritual  sphere,"  I  find 
myself  wholly  unable  to  admit  that  either  nations  or 
individuals  will  really  advance,  if  their  common  outfit 

1  "  Essays  in  Criticism,"  p.  37. 


Science  and  Culture  301 

draws  nothing  from  the  stores  of  physical  science.  I 
should  say  that  an  army,  without  weapons  of  precision 
and  with  no  particular  base  of  operations,  might  more 
hopefully  enter  upon  a  campaign  on  the  Rhine,  than  a 
man,  devoid  of  a  knowledge  of  what  physical  science  5 
has  done  in  the  last  century,  upon  a  criticism  of  life. 

When  a  biologist  meets  with  an  anomaly,  he  in- 
stinctively turns  to  the  study  of  development  to  clear  it 
up.  The  rationale  of  contradictory  opinions  may  with 
equal  confidence  be  sought  in  history.  10 

It  is,  happily,  no  new  thing  that  Englishmen  should 
employ  their  wealth  in  building  and  endowing  institu- 
tions for  educational  purposes.  But,  five  or  six  hun- 
dred years  ago,  deeds  of  foundation  expressed  or  im- 
plied conditions  as  nearly  as  possible  contrary  to  those  15 
which  have  been  thought  expedient  by  Sir  Josiah 
Mason.  That  is  to  say,  physical  science  was  practically 
ignored,  while  a  certain  literary  training  was  enjoined 
as  a  means  to  the  acquirement  of  knowledge  which  was 
essentially  theological.  20 

The  reason  of  this  singular  contradiction  between  the 
actions  of  men  alike  animated  by  a  strong  and  dis- 
interested desire  to  promote  the  welfare  of  their  fellows, 
is  easily  discovered. 

At  that  time,  in  fact,  if  any  one  desired  knowledge  25 
beyond  such  as  could  be  obtained  by  his  own  observation, 
or  by  common  conversation,  his  first  necessity  was  to 
learn  the  Latin  language,  inasmuch  as  all  the  higher 


302  Controversy 

knowledge  of  the  Western  world  was  contained  in  works 
written  in  that  language.  Hence,  Latin  grammar,  with 
logic  and  rhetoric,  studied  through  Latin,  were  the 
fundamentals  of  education.  With  respect  to  the  sub- 
stance of  the  knowledge  imparted  through  this  chan-  5 
nel,  the  Jewish  and  Christian  Scriptures,  as  interpreted 
and  supplemented  by  the  Romish  Church,  were  held 
to  contain  a  complete  and  infallibly  true  body  of 
information. 

Theological  dicta  were,  to  the  thinkers  of  those  days,  10 
that  which  the  axioms  and  definitions  of  Euclid  are  to 
the  geometers  of  these.      The  business  of  the  philoso- 
phers of  the  middle  ages  was  to  deduce  from  the  data 
furnished  by  the  theologians,  conclusions  in  accordance 
with   ecclesiastical   decrees.     They  were   allowed   the  15 
high  privilege  of  showing,  by  logical  process,  how  and 
why  that  which  the  Church  said  was  true,  must  be  true. 
And  if  their  demonstrations  fell  short  of  or  exceeded  this 
limit,  the  Church  was  maternally  ready  to  check  their 
aberrations;    if  need  were,  by  the  help  of  the  secular  20 
arm. 

Between  the  two,  our  ancestors  were  furnished  with 
a  compact  and  complete  criticism  of  life.  They  were 
told  how  the  world  began  and  how  it  would  end;  they 
learned  that  all  material  existence  was  but  a  base  and  25 
insignificant  blot  upon  the  fair  face  of  the  spiritual  world, 
and  that  nature  was,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  the 
playground  of  the  devil;  they  learned  that  the  earth  is 
the  center  of  the  visible  universe,  and  that  man  is  the 


Science  and  Culture  303 

cynosure  of  things  terrestrial,  and  more  especially  was  it 
inculcated  that  the  course  of  nature  had  no  fixed  order, 
but  that  it  could  be,  and  constantly  was,  altered  by  the 
agency  of  innumerable  spiritual  beings,  good  and  bad, 
according  as  they  were  moved  by  the  deeds  and  prayers  5 
of  men.  The  sum  and  substance  of  the  whole  doctrine 
was  to  produce  the  conviction  that  the  only  thing  really 
worth  knowing  in  this  world  was  how  to  secure  that 
place  in  a  better  which,  under  certain  conditions,  the 
Church  promised.  10 

Our  ancestors  had  a  living  belief  in  this  theory  of  life, 
and  acted  upon  it  in  their  dealings  with  education,  as 
in  all  other  matters.  Culture  meant  saintliness  —  after 
the  fashion  of  the  saints  of  those  days ;  the  education 
that  led  to  it  was,  of  necessity,  theological;  and  the  way  15 
to  theology  lay  through  Latin. 

That  the  study  of  nature  —  further  than  was  requisite 
for  the  satisfaction  of  everyday  wants  —  should  have 
any  bearing  on  human  life  was  far  from  the  thoughts  of 
men  thus  trained.     Indeed,  as  nature  had  been  cursed  20 
for  man's  sake,  it  was  an  obvious  conclusion  that  those 
who  meddled  with  nature  were  likely  to  come  into  pretty 
close  contact  with  Satan.     And,  if  any  born  scientific 
investigator  followed  his  instincts,  he  might  safely  reckon 
upon  earning  the  reputation,  and  probably  upon  suffer-  25 
ing  the  fate,  of  a  sorcerer. 

Had  the  Western  world  been  left  to  itself  in  Chinese 
isolation,  there  is  no  saying  how  long  this  state  of 
things  might  have  endured.  But,  happily,  it  was  not 


304  Controversy 

left  to  itself.  Even  earlier  than  the  thirteenth  century, 
the  development  of  Moorish  civilization  in  Spain  and 
the  great  movement  of  the  Crusades  had  introduced  the 
leaven  which,  from  that  day  to  this,  has  never  ceased  to 
work.  At  first,  through  the  intermediation  of  Arabic  5 
translations,  afterwards  by  the  study  of  the  originals, 
the  western  nations  of  Europe  became  acquainted  with 
the  writings  of  the  ancient  philosophers  and  poets,  and, 
in  time,  with  the  whole  of  the  vast  literature  of  antiquity. 

Whatever  there  was  of  high  intellectual   aspiration  10 
or  dominant  capacity  in  Italy,  France,  Germany,  and 
England,  spent  itself  for  centuries  in  taking  possession 
of  the  rich  inheritance  left  by  the  dead  civilizations  of 
Greece  and  Rome.     Marvelously  aided  by  the  inven- 
tion of  printing,   classical  learning  spread  and  flour-  15 
ished.     Those  who  possessed  it  prided  themselves  on 
having   attained  the  highest    culture   then  within   the 
reach  of  mankind. 

And  justly.     For,  saving  Dante  on  his  solitary  pin- 
nacle, there  was  no  figure  in  modern  literature  at  the  time  20 
of  the  Renaissance  to  compare  with  the  men  of  antiquity ; 
there  was  no  art  to  compete  with  their  sculpture ;  there 
was  no  physical  science  but  that  which  Greece  had 
created.     Above  all,  there  was  no  other  example  of 
perfect  intellectual  freedom  —  of  the  unhesitating  ac-  25 
ceptance  of  reason  as  the  sole  guide  to  truth  and  the 
supreme  arbiter  of  conduct. 

The  new  learning  necessarily  soon  exerted  a  pro- 
found influence  upon  education.     The  language  of  the 


Science  and  Culture  305 

monks  and  schoolmen  seemed  little  better  than  gibberish 
to  scholars  fresh  from  Virgil  and  Cicero,  and  the  study  of 
Latin  was  placed  upon  a  new  foundation.  Moreover, 
Latin  itself  ceased  to  afford  the  sole  key  to  knowledge. 
The  student  who  sought  the  highest  thought  of  antiquity,  5 
found  only  a  second-hand  reflection  of  it  in  Roman 
literature,  and  turned  his  face  to  the  full  light  of  the 
Greeks.  And  after  a  battle,  not  altogether  dissimilar 
to  that  which  is  at  present  being  fought  over  the  teaching 
of  physical  science,  the  study  of  Greek  was  recognized  as  10 
an  essential  element  of  all  higher  education. 

Then  the  Humanists,  as  they  were  called,  won  the 
day;  and  the  great  reform  which  they  effected  was  of 
incalculable  service  to  mankind.  But  the  Nemesis  of 
all  reformers  is  finality ;  and  the  reformers  of  education,  15 
like  those  of  religion,  fell  into  the  profound,  however 
common,  error  of  mistaking  the  beginning  for  the  end 
of  the  work  of  reformation. 

The  representatives  of  the  Humanists,  in  the  nine- 
teenth century,  take  their  stand  upon  classical  education  20 
as  the  sole  avenue  to  culture,  as  firmly  as  if  we  were  still 
in  the  age  of  Renaissance.  Yet,  surely,  the  present 
intellectual  relations  of  the  modern  and  the  ancient 
worlds  are  profoundly  different  from  those  which  ob- 
tained three  centuries  ago.  Leaving  aside  the  existence  25 
of  a  great  and  characteristically  modern  literature,  of 
modern  painting,  and,  especially,  of  modern  music, 
there  is  one  feature  of  the  present  state  of  the  civilized 
world  which  separates  it  more  widely  from  the  Re- 


306  Controversy 

naissance,  than  the  Renaissance  was  separated  from  the 
middle  ages. 

This  distinctive  character  of  our  own  times  lies  in  the 
vast  and  constantly  increasing  part  which  is  played  by 
natural  knowledge.  Not  only  is  our  daily  life  shaped  5 
by  it,  not  only  does  the  prosperity  of  millions  of  men 
depend  upon  it,  but  our  whole  theory  of  life  has  long 
been  influenced,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  by  the 
general  conceptions  of  the  universe,  which  have  been 
forced  upon  us  by  physical  science.  10 

In  fact,  the  most  elementary  acquaintance  with  the 
results  of  scientific  investigation  shows  us  that  they 
offer  a  broad  and  striking  contradiction  to  the  opinion 
so  implicitly  credited  and  taught  in  the  middle  ages. 

The  notions  of  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  the  world  15 
entertained  by  our  forefathers  are  no  longer  credible. 
It  is  very  certain  that  the  earth  is  not  the  chief  body  in 
the  material  universe,  and  that  the  world  is  not  subordi- 
nated to  man's  use.     It  is  even  more  certain  that  nature 
is  the  expression  of  a  definite  order  with  which  nothing  20 
interferes,  and  that  the  chief  business  of  mankind  is  to 
learn  that  order  and  govern  themselves  accordingly. 
Moreover  this  scientific  "criticism  of  life"  presents  itself 
to  us  with  different  credentials  from  any  other.     It  ap- 
peals not  to  authority,  nor  to  what  anybody  may  have  25 
thought  or  said,  but  to  nature.     It  admits  that  all  our 
interpretations  of  natural  fact  are  more  or  less  im-- 
perfect  and  symbolic,  and  bids  the  learner  seek  for 
truth  not  among  words  but  among  things.     It  warns 


Science  and  Culture  307 

us  that  the  assertion  which  outstrips  evidence  is  not 
only  a  blunder  but  a  crime. 

The  purely  classical  education  advocated  by  the 
representatives  of  the  Humanists  in  our  day,  gives  no 
inkling  of  all  this.  A  man  may  be  a  better  scholar  than  5 
Erasmus,  and  know  no  more  of  the  chief  causes  of  the 
present  intellectual  fermentation  than  Erasmus  did. 
Scholarly  and  pious  persons,  worthy  of  all  respect, 
favor  us  with  allocutions  upon  the  sadness  of  the  an- 
tagonism of  science  to  their  mediaeval  way  of  thinking,  10 
which  betray  an  ignorance  of  the  first  principles  of 
scientific  investigation,  an  incapacity  for  understanding 
what  a  man  of  science  means  by  veracity,  and  an  uncon- 
sciousness of  the  weight  of  established  scientific  truths, 
which  is  almost  comical.  15 

There  is  no  great  force  in  the  tu  quoque  argument, 
or  else  the  advocates  of  scientific  education  might 
fairly  enough  retort  upon  the  modern  Humanists  that 
they  may  be  learned  specialists,  but  that  they  possess 
no  such  sound  foundation  for  a  criticism  of  life  as  de-  20 
serves  the  name  of  culture.  And,  indeed,  if  we  were 
disposed  to  be  cruel,  we  might  urge  that  the  Humanists 
have  brought  this  reproach  upon  themselves,  not  be- 
cause they  are  too  full  of  the  spirit  of  the  ancient  Greek, 
but  because  they  lack  it.  25 

The  period  of  the  Renaissance  is  commonly  called 
that  of  the  "  Revival  of  Letters,"  as  if  the  influences  then 
brought  to  bear  upon  the  mind  of  Western  Europe  had 
been  wholly  exhausted  in  the  field  of  literature.  I  think 


308  Controversy 

it  is  very  commonly  forgotten  that  the  revival  of  science, 
effected  by  the  same  agency,  although  less  conspicuous, 
was  not  less  momentous. 

In  fact,  the  few  and  scattered  students  of  nature  of 
that  day  picked  up  the  clew  to  her  secrets  exactly  as  it  fell  5 
from  the  hands  of  the  Greeks  a  thousand  years  before. 
The  foundations  of  mathematics  were  so  well  laid  by 
them,  that  our  children  learn  their  geometry  from  a 
book  written  for  the  schools  of  Alexandria  two  thou- 
sand years  ago.  Modern  astronomy  is  the  natural  con-  10 
tinuation  and  development  of  the  work  of  Hipparchus 
and  of  Ptolemy;  modern  physics  of  that  of  Democritus 
and  of  Archimedes;  it  was  long  before  modern  biologi- 
cal science  outgrew  the  knowledge  bequeathed  to  us  by 
Aristotle,  by  Theophrastus,  and  by  Galen.  15 

We  cannot  know  all  the  best  thoughts  and  sayings 
of  the  Greeks  unless  we  know  what  they  thought  about 
natural  phenomena.  We  cannot  fully  apprehend  their 
criticism  of  life  unless  we  understand  the  extent  to 
which  that  criticism  was  affected  by  scientific  concep-  20 
tions.  We  falsely  pretend  to  be  the  inheritors  of  their 
culture,  unless  we  are  penetrated,  as  the  best  minds 
among  them  were,  with  an  unhesitating  faith  that  the 
free  employment  of  reason,  in  accordance  with  scientific 
method,  is  the  sole  method  of  reaching  truth.  25 

Thus  I  venture  to  think  that  the  pretensions  of  our 
modern  Humanists  to  the  possession  of  the  monopoly 
of  culture  and  to  the  exclusive  inheritance  of  the  spirit 
of  antiquity  must  be  abated,  if  not  abandoned.  But  I 


Science  and  Culture  309 

should  be  very  sorry  that  anything  I  have  said  should 
be  taken  to  imply  a  desire  on  my  part  to  depreciate  the 
value  of  classical  education,  as  it  might  be  and  as  it  some- 
times is.  The  native  capacities  of  mankind  vary  no  less 
than  their  opportunities ;  and  while  culture  is  one,  the  5 
road  by  which  one  man  may  best  reach  it  is  widely  differ- 
ent from  that  which  is  most  advantageous  to  another. 
Again,  while  scientific  education  is  yet  inchoate  and 
tentative,  classical  education  is  thoroughly  well  organ- 
ized upon  the  practical  experience  of  generations  of  10 
teachers.  So  that,  given  ample  time  for  learning  and 
estimation  for  ordinary  life,  or  for  a  literary  career,  I 
do  not  think  that  a  young  Englishman  in  search  of 
culture  can  do  better  than  follow  the  course  usually 
marked  out  for  him,  supplementing  its  deficiencies  by  15 
his  own  efforts. 

But  for  those  who  mean  to  make  science  their  serious 
occupation;  or  who  intend  to  follow  the  profession  of 
medicine ;  or  who  have  to  enter  early  upon  the  business 
of  life ;  for  all  these,  in  my  opinion,  classical  education  20 
is  a  mistake ;  and  it  is  for  this  reason  that  I  am  glad  to 
see  "mere  literary  education  and  instruction "  shut  out 
from  the  curriculum  of  Sir  Josiah  Mason's  College,  see- 
ing that  its  inclusion  would  probably  lead  to  the  intro- 
duction of  the  ordinary  smattering  of  Latin  and  Greek.  25 

Nevertheless,  I  am  the  last  person  to  question  the 
importance  of  genuine  literary  education,  or  to  suppose 
that  intellectual  culture  can  be  complete  without  it.  An 
exclusively  scientific  training  will  bring  about  a  mental 


310  Controversy 

twist  as  surely  as  an  exclusively  literary  training.  The 
value  of  the  cargo  does  not  compensate  for  a  ship's  being 
out  of  trim;  and  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  think  that 
the  Scientific  College  would  turn  out  none  but  lop-sided 
men.  5 

There  is  no  need,  however,  that  such  a  catastrophe 
should  happen.  Instruction  in  English,  French,  and 
German  is  provided,  and  thus  the  three  greatest  litera- 
tures of  the  modern  world  are  made  accessible  to  the 
student.  10 

French  and  German,  and  especially  the  latter  lan- 
guage, are  absolutely  indispensable  to  those  who  desire 
full  knowledge  in  any  department  of  science.  But  even 
supposing  that  the  knowledge  of  these  languages  ac- 
quired is  not  more  than  sufficient  for  purely  scientific  15 
purposes,  every  Englishman  has,  in  his  native  tongue, 
an  almost  perfect  instrument  of  literary  expression ;  and, 
in  his  own  literature,  models  of  every  kind  of  liter- 
ary excellence.  If  an  Englishman  cannot  get  literary 
culture  out  of  his  Bible,  his  Shakespeare,  his  Milton,  20 
neither,  in  my  belief,  will  the  profoundest  study  of 
Homer  and  Sophocles,  Virgil  and  Horace  give  it  to  him. 

Thus,  since  the  constitution  of  the  College  makes 
sufficient  provision  for  literary  as  well  as  for  scientific 
education,  and  since  artistic  instruction  is  also  con-  25 
templated,  it  seems  to  me  that  a  fairly  complete  culture     • 
is  offered  to  all  who  are  willing  to   take  advantage 
of  it. 


LITERATURE   AND   SCIENCE1 
MATTHEW  ARNOLD 

PRACTICAL  people  talk  with  a  smile  of  Plato  and  of 
his  absolute  ideas;  and  it  is  impossible  to  deny  that 
Plato's  ideas  do  often  seem  unpractical  and  impracti- 
cable, and  especially  when  one  views  them  in  connec- 
tion with  the  life  of  a  great  workaday  world  like  5 
the  United  States.  The  necessary  staple  of  the  life 
of  such  a  world  Plato  regards  with  disdain;  handi- 
craft and  trade  and  the  working  professions  he  regards 
with  disdain;  but  what  becomes  of  the  life  of  an  in- 
dustrial modern  community  if  you  take  handicraft  and  10 
trade  and  the  working  professions  out  of  it  ?  The  base 
mechanic  arts  and  hardier afts,  says  Plato,  bring  about 
a  natural  weakness  in  the  principle  of  excellence  in  a 
man,  so  that  he  cannot  govern  the  ignoble  growths  in 
him,  but  nurses  them,  and  cannot  understand  foster-  15 
ing  any  other.  Those  who  exercise  such  arts  and  trades, 
as  they  have  their  bodies,  he  says,  marred  by  their  vulgar 
businesses,  so  they  have  their  souls,  too,  bowed  and 
broken  by  them.  And  if  one  of  these  uncomely  people 
has  a  mind  to  seek  self-culture  and  philosophy,  Plato  20 
compares  him  to  a  bald  little  tinker,  who  has  scraped 
together  money,  and  has  got  his  release  from  service,  and 

1From  "  Discourses  in  America." 


312  Controversy 

has  had  a  bath,  and  bought  a  new  coat,  and  is  rigged  out 
like  a  bridegroom  about  to  marry  the  daughter  of  his 
master  who  has  fallen  into  poor  and  helpless  estate. 

Nor  do  the  working  professions  fare  any  better  than 
trade  at  the  hands  of  Plato.     He  draws  for  us  an    5 
inimitable  picture  of  the  working  lawyer,  and  of  his 
life  of  bondage;   he  shows  how  this  bondage  from  his 
youth  up  has  stunted  and  warped  him,  and  made  him 
small   and   crooked   of  soul,   encompassing  him  with 
difficulties  which  he  is  not  man  enough  to  rely  on  10 
justice  and  truth  as  means  to  encounter,  but  has  re- 
course, for  help  out  of  them,  to  falsehood  and  wrong. 
And  so,  says  Plato,  this  poor  creature  is  bent  and  broken, 
and  grows  up  from  boy  to  man  without  a  particle  of 
soundness  in  him,  although  exceedingly  smart  and  clever  15 
in  his  own  esteem. 

One  cannot  refuse  to  admire  the  artist  who  draws 
these  pictures.  But  we  say  to  ourselves  that  his  ideas 
show  the  influence  of  a  primitive  and  obsolete  order 
of  things,  when  the  warrior  caste  and  the  priestly  20 
caste  were  alone  in  honor,  and  the  humble  work  of 
the  world  was  done  by  slaves.  We  have  now  changed 
all  that;  the  modern  majority  consists  in  work,  as 
Emerson  declares;  and  in  work,  we  may  add,  princi- 
pally of  such  plain  and  dusty  kind  as  the  work  of  25 
cultivators  of  the  ground,  handicraftsmen,  men  of 
trade  and  business,  men  of  the  working  professions. 
Above  all  is  this  true  in  a  great  industrious  community 
such  as  that  of  the  United  States. 


Literature  and  Science  313 

Now  education,  many  people  go  on  to  say,  is  still 
mainly  governed  by  the  ideas  of  men  like  Plato,  who 
lived  when  the  warrior  caste  and  the  priestly  or  philo- 
sophical class  were  alone  in  honor,  and  the  really  useful 
part  of  the  community  were  slaves.  It  is  an  education  5 
fitted  for  persons  of  leisure  in  such  a  community.  This 
education  passed  from  Greece  and  Rome  to  the  feudal 
communities  of  Europe,  where  also  the  warrior  caste 
and  the  priestly  caste  were  alone  held  in  honor,  and  where 
the  really  useful  and  working  part  of  the  community,  10 
though  not  nominally  slaves  as  in  the  pagan  world,  were 
practically  not  much  better  off  than  slaves,  and  not 
more  seriously  regarded.  And  how  absurd  it  is,  people 
end  by  saying,  to  inflict  this  education  upon  an  indus- 
trious modern  community,  where  very  few  indeed  are  15 
persons  of  leisure,  and  the  mass  to  be  considered  has  not 
leisure,  but  is  bound,  for  its  own  great  good,  and  for  the 
great  good  of  the  world  at  large,  to  plain  labor  and  to 
industrial  pursuits,  and  the  education  in  question  tends 
necessarily  to  make  men  dissatisfied  with  these  pursuits  20 
and  unfitted  for  them! 

That  is  what  is  said.  So  far  I  must  defend  Plato, 
as  to  plead  that  his  view  of  education  and  studies  is 
in  the  general,  as  it  seems  to  me,  sound  enough,  and 
fitted  for  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men,  whatever  25 
their  pursuits  may  be.  "An  intelligent  man,"  says 
Plato,  "will  prize  those  studies  which  result  in  his 
soul  getting  soberness,  righteousness,  and  wisdom, 
and  will  less  value  the  others."  I  cannot  consider 


314  Controversy 

that  a  bad  description  of  the  aim  of  education,  and  of 
the  motives  which  should  govern  us  in  the  choice  of 
studies,  whether  we  are  preparing  ourselves  for  a 
hereditary  seat  in  the  English  House  of  Lords  or  for 
the  pork  trade  in  Chicago.  5 

Still  I  admit  that  Plato's  world  was  not  ours,  that 
his  scorn  of  trade  and  handicraft  is  fantastic,  that  he 
had  no  conception  of  a  great  industrial  community  such 
as  that  of  the  United  States,  and  that  such  a  com- 
munity must  and  will  shape  its  education  to  suit  its  own  10 
needs.  If  the  usual  education  handed  down  to  it  from 
the  past  does  not  suit  it,  it  will  certainly  before  long 
drop  this  and  try  another.  The  usual  education  in  the 
past  has  been  mainly  literary.  The  question  is  whether 
the  studies  which  were  long  supposed  to  be  the  best  for  15 
all  of  us  are  practically  the  best  now ;  whether  others  are 
not  better.  The  tyranny  of  the  past,  many  think,  weighs 
on  us  injuriously  in  the  predominance  given  to  letters  in 
education.  The  question  is  raised  whether,  to  meet  the 
needs  of  our  modern  life,  the  predominance  ought  20 
not  now  to  pass  from  letters  to  science;  and  naturally 
the  question  is  nowhere  raised  with  more  energy  than 
here  in  the  United  States.  The  design  of  abasing  what 
is  called  "mere  literary  instruction  and  education,"  and 
of  exalting  what  is  called  "sound,  extensive,  and  practi-  25 
cal  scientific  knowledge,"  is,  in  this  intensely  modern 
world  of  the  United  States,  even  more  perhaps  than  in 
Europe,  a  very  popular  design,  and' makes  great  and 
rapid  progress. 


Literature  and  Science  315 

I  am  going  to  ask  whether  the  present  movement 
for  ousting  letters  from  their  old  predominance  in 
education,  and  for  transferring  the  predominance  in 
education  to  the  natural  sciences,  whether  this  brisk 
and  flourishing  movement  ought  to  prevail,  and  whether  5 
it  is  likely  that  in  the  end  it  really  will  prevail.  An 
objection  may  be  raised  which  I  will  anticipate.  My 
own  studies  have  been  almost  wholly  in  letters,  and  my 
visits  to  the  field  of  the  natural  sciences  have  been  very 
slight  and  inadequate,  although  those  sciences  have  10 
always  strongly  moved  my  curiosity.  A  man  of  letters, 
it  will  perhaps  be  said,  is  not  competent  to  discuss  the 
comparative  merits  of  letters  and  natural  science  as 
means  of  education.  To  this  objection  I  reply,  first  of 
all,  that  his  incompetence  if  he  attempts  the  discussion  15 
but  is  really  incompetent  for  it,  will  be  abundantly 
visible;  nobody  will  be  taken  in;  he  will  have  plenty 
of  sharp  observers  and  critics  to  save  mankind  from 
that  danger.  But  the  line  I  am  going  to  follow  is,  as 
you  will  soon  discover,  so  extremely  simple,  that  per-  20 
haps  it  may  be  followed  without  failure  even  by  one 
who  for  a  more  ambitious  line  of  discussion  would  be 
quite  incompetent. 

Some  of  you  may  possibly  remember  a  phrase  of  mine 

which  has  been  the  object  of  a  good  deal  of  comment ;  25 

* 

an  observation  to  the  effect  that  in  our  culture,  J;he  aim 
being  to  know  ourselves  and  the  world,  we  have,  as  the 
means  to  this  end,  to  know  the  best  which  has  been  thought 
and  said  in  the  world.  1  A  man  of  science,  who  is  also  an 


3i  6  Controversy 

excellent  writer  and  the  very  prince  of  debaters,  Pro- 
fessor Huxley,  in  a  discourse  at  the  opening  of  Sir  Josiah 
Mason's  College  at  Birmingham,  laying  hold  of  this 
phrase,  expanded  it  by  quoting  some  more  words  of  mine, 
which  are  these:  "The  civilized  world  is  to  be  regarded  5 
as  now  being,  for  intellectual  and  spiritual  purposes,  one 
great  confederation,  bound  to  a  joint  action  and  working 
to  a  common  result ;  and  whose  members  have  for  their 
proper  outfit  a  knowledge  of  Greek,  Roman,  and  East- 
ern antiquity,  and  of  one  another.  Special  local  and  10 
temporary  advantages  being  put  out  of  account,  that 
modern  nation  will  in  the  intellectual  and  spiritual 
sphere  make  most  progress,  which  most  thoroughly 
carries  out  this  programme." 

Now  on  my  phrase,  thus  enlarged,  Professor  Hux-  15 
ley  remarks  that  when  I  speak  of  the  above-mentioned 
knowledge  as  enabling  us  to  know  ourselves  and  the 
world,  I  assert  literature  to  contain  the  materials  which 
suffice  for  thus  making  us  know  ourselves  and  the  world. 
But  it  is  not  by  any  means  clear,  says  he,  that  after  hav-  20 
ing  learned  all  which  ancient  and  modern  literatures  have 
to  tell  us,  we  have  laid  a  sufficiently  broad  and  deep 
foundation  for  that  criticism  of  life,  that  knowledge  of 
ourselves  and  the  world,  which  constitutes  culture.     On 
the  contrary,  Professor  Huxley  declares  that  he  finds  25 
himself  "wholly  unable  to  admit  that  either  nations  or 
individuals  will  really  advance,  if  their  outfit  draws 
nothing  from  the  stores  of  physical  science.     An  army 
without  weapons  of  precision,  and  with  no  particular 


Literature  and  Science  317 

base  of  operations,  might  more  hopefully  enter  upon  a 
campaign  on  the  Rhine,  than  a  man,  devoid  of  a  knowl- 
edge of  what  physical  science  has  done  in  the  last 
century,  upon  a  criticism  of  life." 

This  shows  how  needful  it  is  for  those  who  are  to    5 
discuss  any  matter  together,  to  have  a  common  under- 
standing as  to  the  sense  of  the  terms  they  employ,  — 
how    needful,     and    how    difficult.     What    Professor 
Huxley  says,  implies  just  the  reproach  which  is  so  often 
brought  against  the  study  of  belles  lettres,  as  they  are  10 
called :  that  the  study  is  an  elegant  one,  but  slight  and 
ineffectual ;  a  smattering  of  Greek  and  Latin  and  other 
ornamental  things,  of  little  use  for  any  one  whose  object 
is  to  get  at  truth,  and  to  be  a  practical  man.    So,  too,  M. 
Renan  talks  of  the  "superficial  humanism"  of  a  school  15 
course  which  treats  us  as  if  we  were  all  going  to  be  poets, 
writers,  preachers,  orators,  and  he  opposes  this  humanism 
to  positive  science,  or  the  critical  search  after  truth.   And 
there  is  always  a  tendency  in  those  who  are  remonstrat- 
ing against  the  predominance  of  letters  in  education,  to  20 
understand  by  letters  belles  lettres,  and  by  belles  lettres 
a  superficial  humanism,  the  opposite  of  science  or  true 
knowledge. 

TSut  when  we  talk  of  knowing  Greek  and  Roman 
antiquity,  for  instance,  which  is  the  knowledge  people  25 
have  called  the  humanities,  I  for  my  part  mean  a 
knowledge  which  is  something  more  than  a  super- 
ficial humanism,  mainly  decorative.  "I  call  all  teach- 
ing scientific"  says  Wolf,  the  critic  of  Homer,  "which 


3i  8  Controversy 

is  systematically  laid  out  and  followed  up  to  its  origi- 
nal sources.  For  example:  a  knowledge  of  classical 
antiquity  is  scientific  when  the  remains  of  classical 
antiquity  are  correctly  studied  in  the  original  languages." 
There  can  be  no  doubt  that  Wolf  is  perfectly  right ;  that  5 
all  learning  is  scientific  which  is  systematically  laid  out 
and  followed  up  to  its  original  sources,  and  that  a  genu- 
ine humanism  is  scientific. 

When  I  speak  of  knowing  Greek  and  Roman  antiq- 
uity, therefore,  as  a  help  to  knowing  ourselves  and  the  10 
world,!  mean  more  than  a  knowledge  of  so  much  vocab- 
ulary, so  much  grammar,  so  many  portions  of  authors 
in  the  Greek  and  Latin  languages ;  I  mean  knowing  the 
Greeks  and  Romans,  and   their  life   and   genius,  and 
what  they  were  and  did  in  the  world ;  what  we  get  from  15 
them,  and  what  is  its  value.     That,  at  least,  is  the  ideal ; 
and  when  we  talk  of  endeavoring  to  know  Greek  and 
Roman  antiquity,  as  a  help  to  knowing  ourselves  and 
the  world,  we  mean  endeavoring  so  to  know  them  as  to 
satisfy  this  ideal,  however  much  we  may  still  fall  short  20 
of  it. 

The  same  also  as  to  knowing  our  own  and  other 
modern  nations,  with  the  like  aim  of  getting  to  under- 
stand ourselves  and  the  world.  To  know  the  best 
that  has  been  thought  and  said  by  the  modern  nations,  25 
is  to  know,  says  Professor  Huxley,  "only  what  modern 
literatures  have  to  tell  us;  it  is  the  criticism  of  life 
contained  in  modern  literature. "  And  yet  "the  dis- 
tinctive character  of  our  times,"  he  urges,  "lies  in  the 


Literature  and  Science  319 

vast  and  constantly  increasing  part  which  is  played 
by  natural  knowledge."  And  how,  therefore,  can  a 
man,  devoid  of  knowledge  of  what  physical  science  has 
done  in  the  last  century,  enter  hopefully  upon  a  criticism 
of  modern  life?  5 

Let  us,  I  say,  be  agreed  about  the  meaning  of  the 
terms  we  are  using.  I  talk  of  knowing  the  best  which 
has  been  thought  and  uttered  in  the  world ;  Professor 
Huxley  says  this  means  knowing  literature.  Litera- 
ture is  a  large  word;  it  may  mean  everything  written  10 
with  letters  or  printed  in  a  book.  Euclid's  Elements 
and  Newton's  Principia  are  thus  literature.  All 
knowledge  that  reaches  us  through  books  is  literature. 
But  by  literature  Professor  Huxley  means  belles  lettres. 
He  means  to  make  me  say,  that  knowing  the  best  15 
which  has  been  thought  and  said  by  the  modern  nations 
is  knowing  their  belles  lettres  and  no  more.  And  this 
is  no  sufficient  equipment,  he  argues,  for  a  criticism  of 
modern  life.  But  as  I  do  not  mean,  by  knowing  ancient 
Rome,  knowing  merely  more  or  less  of  Latin  belles  lettres,  20 
and  taking  no  account  of  Rome's  military,  and  political, 
and  legal,  and  administrative  work  in  the  world ;  and  as, 
j^by  knowing  ancient  Greece,!  understand  knowing  her  as 
the  giver  of  Greek  art,  and  the  guide  to  a  free  and  right 
use  of  reason  and  to  scientific  method,  and  the  founder  25 
of  our  mathematics  and  physics  and  astronomy  and 
biology,  —  I  understand  knowing  her  as  all  this,  and  not 
merely  knowing  certain  Greek  poems,  and  histories, 
and  treatises,  and  speeches,  —  so  as  to  the  knowledge 


320  Controversy 

of  modern  nations  also.  By  knowing  modern  nations, 
I  mean  not  merely  knowing  their  belles  lettres,  but 
knowing  also  what  has  been  done  by  such  men  as 
Copernicus,  Galileo,  Newton,  Darwin.  "Our  ances- 
tors learned,"  says  Professor  Huxley,  "that  the  earth  5 
is  the  center  of  the  visible  universe,  and  that  man  is 
the  cynosure  of  things  terrestrial;  and  more  especially 
was  it  inculcated  that  the  course  of  nature  has  no 
fixed  order,  but  that  it  could  be,  and  constantly  was, 
altered."  But  for  us  now,  continues  Professor  Hux-  10 
ley,  "the  notions  of  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  the 
world  entertained  by  our  forefathers  are  no  longer 
credible.  It  is  very  certain  that  the  earth  is  not  the 
chief  body  in  the  material  universe,  and  that  the  world 
is  not  subordinated  to  man's  use.  It  is  even  more  cer-  15 
tain  that  nature  is  the  expression  of  a  definite  order, 
with  which  nothing  interferes."  "And  yet,"  he  cries, 
"the  purely  classical  education  advocated  by  the 
representatives  of  the  humanists  in  our  day  gives  no 
inkling  of  all  this !  "  20 

In  due  place  and  time  I  will  just  touch  upon  that 
vexed  question  of  classical  education;  but  at  present 
the  question  is  as  to  what  is  meant  by  knowing  the 
best  which  modern  nations  have  thought  and  said. 
It  is  not  knowing  their  belles  lettres  merely  which  is  25 
meant.  To  know  Italian  belles  lettres  is  not  to  know 
Italy,  and  to  know  English  belles  lettres  is  not  to  know 
England.  Into  knowing  Italy  and  England  there  comes 
a  great  deal  more,  Galileo  and  Newton  amongst  it.  The 


Literature  and  Science  321 

reproach  of  being  a  superficial  humanism,  a  tincture  of 
belles  lettres,  may  attach  rightly  enough  to  some  other 
disciplines;  but  to  the  particular  discipline  recom- 
mended when  I  proposed  knowing  the  best  that  has 
been  thought  and  said  in  the  world,  it  does  not  apply.  5 
In  that  best  I  certainly  include  what  in  modern  times 
has  been  thought  and  said  by  the  great  observers  and 
knowers  of  nature. 

There  is,  therefore,  really  no  question  between 
Professor  Huxley  and  me  as  to  whether  knowing  the  10 
great  results  of  the  modern  scientific  study  of  nature  is 
not  required  as  a  part  of  our  culture,  as  well  as  know- 
ing the  products  of  literature  and  art.  But  to  follow 
the  processes  by  which  those  results  are  reached,  ought, 
say  the  friends  of  physical  science,  to  be  made  the  staple  15 
of  education  for  the  bulk  of  mankind.  And  here  there 
does  arise  a  question  between  those  whom  Professor 
Huxley  calls  with  playful  sarcasm  "the  Levites  of 
culture,"  and  those  whom  the  poor  humanist  is  some- 
times apt  to  regard  as  its  Nebuchadnezzars.  20 

The  great  results  of  the  scientific  investigation  of 
nature  we  are  agreed  upon  knowing,  but  how  much 
of  our  study  are  we  bound  to  give  to  the  processes  by 
which  those  results  are  reached?  The  results  have 
their  visible  bearing  on  human  life.  But  all  the  pro-  25 
cesses,  too,  all  the  items  of  fact  by  which  those  results 
are  reached  and  established,  are  interesting.  All  knowl- 
edge is  interesting  to  a  wise  man,  and  the  knowledge 
of  nature  is  interesting  to  all  men.  It  is  very  interesting 
Y 


322  Controversy 

to  know,  that,  from  the  albuminous  white  of  the  egg, 
the  chick  in  the  egg  gets  the  materials  for  its  flesh, 
bones,  blood,  and  feathers ;  while,  from  the  fatty  yolk 
of  the  egg,  it  gets  the  heat  and  energy  which  enable  it  at 
length  to  break  its  shell  and  begin  the  world.  It  is  less  5 
interesting,  perhaps,  but  still  it  is  interesting,  to  know 
that  when  a  taper  burns,  the  wax  is  converted  into  car- 
bonic acid  and  water.  Moreover,  it  is  quite  true  that  the 
habit  of  dealing  with  facts,  which  is  given  by  the  study  of 
nature,  is,  as  the  friends  of  physical  science  praise  it  for  10 
being,  an  excellent  discipline.  The  appeal,  in  the  study 
of  nature,  is  constantly  to  observation  and  experiment ; 
not  only  is  it  said  that  the  thing  is  so,  but  we  can  be 
made  to  see  that  it  is  so.  Not  only  does  a  man  tell  us 
that  when  a  taper  burns  the  wax  is  converted  into  15 
carbonic  acid  and  water,  as  a  man  may  tell  us,  if  he 
likes,  that  Charon  is  punting  his  ferry  boat  on  the 
river  Styx,  or  that  Victor  Hugo  is  a  sublime  poet,  or 
Mr.  Gladstone  the  most  admirable  of  statesmen;  but 
we  are  made  to  see  that  the  conversion  into  carbonic  20 
acid  and  water  does  actually  happen.  This  reality  of 
natural  knowledge  it  is,  which  makes  the  friends  of 
physical  science  contrast  it,  as  a  knowledge  of  things, 
with  the  humanist's  knowledge,  which  is,  they  say,  a 
knowledge  of  words.  And  hence  Professor  Huxley  is  25 
moved  to  lay  it  down  that,  "for  the  purpose  of  attain- 
ing real  culture,  an  exclusively  scientific  education  is  at 
least  as  effectual  as  an  exclusively~literary  education." 
And  a  certain  President  of  the  Section  for  Mechanical 


Literature  and  Science  323 

Science  in  the  British  Association  is,  in  Scripture  phrase, 
"very  bold,"  and  declares  that  if  a  man,  in  his  mental 
training,  "has  substituted  literature  and  history  for 
natural  science,  he  has  chosen  the  less  useful  alternative." 
But  whether  we  go  these  lengths  or  not,  we  must  all  5 
admit  that  in  natural  science  the  habit  gained  of  dealing 
with  facts  is  a  most  valuable  discipline,  and  that  every 
one  should  have  some  experience  of  it. 

More  than  this,  however,  is  demanded  by  the  re- 
formers. It  is  proposed  to  make  the  training  in  natural  10 
science  the  main  part  of  education,  for  the  great  ma- 
jority of  mankind  at  any  rate.  And  here,  I  confess, 
I  part  company  with  the  friends  of  physical  science, 
with  whom  up  to  this  point  I  have  been  agreeing.  In 
differing  from  them,  however,  I  wish  to  proceed  with  15 
the  utmost  caution  and  diffidence.  The  smallness  of 
my  own  acquaintance  with  the  disciplines  of  natural 
science  is  ever  before  my  mind,  and  I  am  fearful  of 
doing  these  disciplines  an  injustice.  The  ability  and 
pugnacity  of  the  partisans  of  natural  science  make  them  20 
formidable  persons  to  contradict.  The  tone  of  tentative 
inquiry,  which  befits  a  being  of  dim  faculties  and 
bounded  knowledge,  is  the  tone  I  would  wish  to  take 
and  not  to  depart  from.  At  present  it  seems  to  me, 
that  those  who  are  for  giving  to  natural  knowledge,  as  25 
they  call  it,  the  chief  place  in  the  education  of  the 
majority  of  mankind,  leave  one  important  thing  out  of 
their  account :  the  constitution  of  human  nature.  But 
I  put  this  forward  on  the  strength  of  some  facts  not 


324  Controversy 

at  all  recondite,  very  far  from  it ;  facts  capable  of  being 
stated  in  the  simplest  possible  fashion,  and  to  which, 
if  I  so  state  them,  the  man  of  science  will,  I  am  sure, 
be  willing  to  allow  their  due  weight. 

Deny  the  facts  altogether,  I  think,  he  hardly  can.  5 
He  can  hardly  deny,  that  when  we  set  ourselves  to 
enumerate  the  powers  which  go  to  the  building  up  of 
human  life,  and  say  that  they  are  the  power  of  conduct, 
the  power  of  intellect  and  knowledge,  the  power  of 
beauty,  and  the  power  of  social  life  and  manners,  —  he  10 
can  hardly  deny  that  this  scheme,  though  drawn  in 
rough  and  plain  lines  enough,  and  not  pretending  to 
scientific  exactness,  does  yet  give  a  fairly  true  repre- 
sentation of  the  matter.  Human  nature  is  built  up  by 
these  powers;  we  have  the  need  for  them  all.  When  15 
we  have  rightly  met  and  adjusted  the  claims  of  them 
all,  we  shall  then  be  in  a  fair  way  for  getting  sober- 
ness and  righteousness,  with  wisdom.  This  is  evident 
enough,  and  the  friends  of  physical  science  would 
admit  it.  20 

But  perhaps  they  may  not  have  sufficiently  observed 
another  thing:  namely,  that  the  several  powers  just 
mentioned  are  not  isolated,  but  there  is,  in  the  gener- 
ality of  mankind,  a  perpetual  tendency  to  relate  them 
one  to  another  in  divers  ways.  With  one  such  way  of  25 
relating  them  I  am  particularly  concerned  now.  Fol- 
lowing our  instinct  for  intellect  and  knowledge,  we 
acquire  pieces  of  knowledge;  and  presently,  in  the 
generality  of  men,  there  arises  the  desire  to  relate 


Literature  and  Science  325 

these  pieces  of  knowledge  to  our  sense  for  conduct,  to 
our  sense  for  beauty,  —  and  there  is  weariness  and  dis- 
satisfaction if  the  desire  is  balked.     Now  in  this  desire      ^ 
lies,  I  think,  the  strength  of  that  hold  which  letters  have 
upon  us.  5 

All  knowledge  is,  as  I  said  just  now,  interesting; 
and  even  items  of  knowledge  which  from  the  nature  of 
the  case  cannot  well  be  related,  but  must  stand  isolated 
in  our  thoughts,  have  their  interest.  Even  lists  of  ex- 
ceptions have  their  interest.  If  we  are  studying  Greek  10 
accents,  it  is  interesting  to  know  that  pais  and  pas,  and 
some  other  monosyllables  of  the  same  form  of  declen- 
sion, do  not  take  the  circumflex  upon  the  last  syllable 
of  the  genitive  plural,  but  vary,  in  this  respect,  from 
the  common  rule.  If  we  are  studying  physiology,  it  is  15 
interesting  to  know  that  the  pulmonary  artery  carries 
dark  blood  and  the  pulmonary  vein  carries  bright 
blood,  departing  in  this  respect  from  the  common 
rule  for  the  division  of  labor  between  the  veins  and 
the  arteries.  But  every  one  knows  how  we  seek  natu-  20 
rally  to  combine  the  pieces  of  our  knowledge  together, 
to  bring  them  under  general  rules,  to  relate  them  to 
principles;  and  how  unsatisfactory  and  tiresome  it 
would  be  to  go  on  forever  learning  lists  of  exceptions, 
or  accumulating  items  of  fact  which  must  stand  isolated.  25 

Well,  that  same  need  of  relating  our  knowledge, 
which  operates  here  within  the  sphere  of  our  knowl- 
edge itself,  we  shall  find  operating,  also,  outside  that 
sphere.  We  experience,  as  we  go  on  learning  and 


326  Controversy 

knowing,  —  the  vast  majority  of  us  experience,  —  the 
need  of  relating  what  we  have  learned  and  known  to  the 
sense  which  we  have  in  us  for  conduct,  to  the  sense 
which  we  have  in  us  for  beauty. 

A  certain  Greek  prophetess  of  Mantineia  in  Area-    5 
dia,  Diotima  by  name,  once  explained  to  the  philoso- 
pher Socrates  that  love,  and  impulse,  and  bent  of  all 
kinds,  is,  in  fact,  nothing  else  but  the  desire  in  men 
that  good    should    forever  be  present  to  them.     This 
desire  for  good,  Diotima  assured  Socrates,  is  our  fun-  10 
damental  desire,  of  which  fundamental  desire  every 
impulse  in  us  is  only  some  one  particular  form.     And 
therefore  this  fundamental  desire  it  is,  I  suppose,  —  this 
desire  in  men  that  good  should  be  forever  present  to 
them,  —  which  acts  in  us  when  we  feel  the  impulse  for  15 
relating  our  knowledge  to  our  sense  for  conduct  and 
to  our  serise  for  beauty.     At  any  rate,  with  men  in 
general  the  instinct  exists.     Such  is   human  nature. 
And  the  instinct,  it  will  be  admitted,  is  innocent,  and 
human  nature  is  preserved  by  our  following  the  lead  20 
of   its   innocent   instincts.     Therefore,   in  seeking  to 
gratify  this  instinct  in  question,  we  are  following  the 
instinct  of  self-preservation  in  humanity. 

But,  no  doubt,  some  kinds  of  knowledge  cannot  be 
made  to  directly  serve  the  instinct  in  question,  cannot  25 
be  directly  related  to  the  sense  for  beauty,  to  the  sense 
for  conduct.  These  are  instrument-knowledges;  they 
lead  on  to  other  knowledges,  which  can.  A  man  who 
passes  his  life  in  instrument-knowledges  is  a  specialist. 


Literature  and  Science  327 

They  may  be  invaluable  as  instruments  to  something 
beyond,  for  those  who  have  the  gift  thus  to  employ  them ; 
and  they  may  be  disciplines  in  themselves  wherein  it  is 
useful  for  every  one  to  have  some  schooling.  But  it  is 
inconceivable  that  the  generality  of  men  should  pass  all  5 
their  mental  life  with  Greek  accents  or  with  formal  logic. 
My  friend  Professor  Sylvester,  who  is  one  of  the  first 
mathematicians  in  the  world,  holds  transcendental 
doctrines  as  to  the  virtue  of  mathematics,  but  those 
doctrines  are  not  for  common  men.  In  the  very  Sen-  10 
ate  House  and  heart  of  our  English  Cambridge  I  once 
ventured,  though  not  without  an  apology  for  my  pro- 
faneness,  to  hazard  the  opinion  that  for  the  majority 
of  mankind  a  little  of  mathematics,  even,  goes  a  long 
way.  Of  course  this  is  quite  consistent  with  their  15 
being  of  immense  importance  as  an  intrument  to  some- 
thing else ;  but  it  is  the  few  who  have  the  aptitude  for 
thus  using  them,  not  the  bulk  of  mankind. 

The  natural  sciences  do  not,  however,  stand  on 
the  same  footing  with  these  instrument-knowledges.  20 
Experience  shows  us  that  the  generality  of  men  will 
find  more  interest  in  learning  that,  when  a  taper  burns, 
the  wax  is  converted  into  carbonic  acid  and  water,  or 
in  learning  the  explanation  of  the  phenomenon  of  dew, 
or  in  learning  how  the  circulation  of  the  blood  is  carried  25 
on,  than  they  find  in  learning  that  the  genitive  plural 
of  pais  and  pas  does  not  take  the  circumflex  on  the 
termination.  And  one  piece  of  natural  knowledge  is 
added  to  another,  and  others  are  added  to  that,  and  at 


328  Controversy 

last  we  come  to  propositions  so  interesting  as  Mr.  Dar- 
win's famous  proposition  that  "our  ancestor  was  a  hairy 
quadruped  furnished  with  a  tail  and  pointed  ears, 
probably  arboreal  in  his  habits/'  Or  we  come  to  propo- 
sitions of  such  reach  and  magnitude  as  those  which  5 
Professor  Huxley  delivers,  when  he  says  that  the  notions 
of  our  forefathers  about  the  beginning  and  the  end  of 
the  world  were  all  wrong,  and  that  nature  is  the  expres- 
sion of  a  definite  order  with  which  nothing  interferes. 

Interesting,    indeed,    these   results   of   science   are,  10 
important  they  are,  and  we  should  all  of  us  be  ac- 
quainted with  them.     But  what  I  now  wish  you  to  mark 
is,  that  we  are  still,  when  they  are  propounded  to  us 
and  we  receive  them,  we  are  still  in  the  sphere  of  intel- 
lect and  knowledge.     And  for  the  generality  of  men  15 
there  will  be  found,  I  say,  to  arise,  when  they  have  duly 
taken  in  the  proposition  that  their  ancestor  was  "a 
hairy  quadruped  furnished  with  a  tail  and  pointed  ears, 
probably  arboreal  in  his  habits,"  there  will  be  found  to 
arise  an  invincible  desire  to  relate  this  proposition  to  20 
the  sense  in  us  for  conduct,  and  to  the  sense  in  us  for 
beauty.     But  this  the  men  of  science  will  not  do  for  us, 
and  will  hardly  even  profess  to  do.     They  will  give  us 
other  pieces  of  knowledge,  other  facts,  about  other  ani- 
mals and  their    ancestors,  or  about  plants,  or  about  25 
stones,  or  about  stars ;  and  they  may  finally  bring  us  to 
those  great  "general  conceptions  of  the  universe,  which 
are  forced  upon  us  all,"  says  Professof  Huxley,  "by  the 
progress  of   physical   science."     But   still   it   will   be 


Literature  and  Science  329 

knowledge  only  which  they  give  us;  knowledge  not 
put  for  us  into  relation  with  our  sense  for  conduct, 
our  sense  for  beauty,  and  touched  with  emotion  by 
being  so  put ;  not  thus  put  for  us,  and  therefore,  to  the 
majority  of  mankind,  after  a  certain  while,  unsatisfying,  5 
wearying. 

Not  to  the  born  naturalist,  I  admit.  But  what  do 
we  mean  by  a  born  naturalist?  We  mean  a  man  in 
whom  the  zeal  for  observing  nature  is  so  uncom- 
monly strong  and  eminent,  that  it  marks  him  off  from  10 
the  bulk  of  mankind.  Such  a  man  will  pass  his  life 
happily  in  collecting  natural  knowledge  and  reasoning 
upon  it,  and  will  ask  for  nothing,  or  hardly  anything, 
more.  I  have  heard  it  said  that  the  sagacious  and 
admirable  naturalist  whom  we  lost  not  very  long  ago,  15 
Mr.  Darwin,  once  owned  to  a  friend  that  for  his  part 
he  did  not  experience  the  necessity  for  two  things  which 
most  men  find  so  necessary  to  them,  —  religion  and 
poetry ;  science  and  the  domestic  affections,  he  thought, 
were  enough.  To  a  born  naturalist,  I  can  well  under-  20 
stand  that  this  should  seem  so.  So  absorbing  is  his 
occupation  with  nature,  so  strong  his  love  for  his  occupa- 
tion, that  he  goes  on  acquiring  natural  knowledge  and 
reasoning  upon  it,  and  has  little  time  or  inclination  for 
thinking  about  getting  it  related  to  the  desire  in  man  for  25 
conduct,  the  desire  in  man  for  beauty.  He  relates  it 
to  them  for  himself  as  he  goes  along,  so  far  as  he  feels 
the  need;  and  he  draws  from  the  domestic  affections 
all  the  additional  solace  necessary.  But  then  Darwins 


330  Controversy 

are  extremely  rare.  Another  great  and  admirable 
master  of  natural  knowledge,  Faraday,  was  a  Sande- 
manian.  That  is  to  say,  he  related  his  knowledge  to 
his  instinct  for  conduct  and  to  his  instinct  for  beauty, 
by  the  aid  of  that  respectable  Scottish  sectary,  Robert  5 
Sandeman.  And  so  strong,  in  general,  is  the  demand 
of  religion  and  poetry  to  have  their  share  in  a  man,  to 
associate  themselves  with  his  knowing,  and  to  relieve  and 
rejoice  it,  that  probably,  for  one  man  amongst  us  with 
the  disposition  to  do  as  Darwin  did  in  this  respect,  10 
there  are  at  least  fifty  with  the  disposition  to  do  as 
Faraday. 

Education  lays  hold  upon  us,  in  fact,  by  satisfying 
this   demand.     Professor   Huxley   holds   up   to   scorn 
mediaeval  education,  with  its  neglect  of  the  knowledge  15 
of  nature,  its  poverty  even  of  literary  studies,  its  formal 
logic  devoted  to  "  showing  how  and  why  that  which 
the  Church  said  was  true  must  be  true."     But  the  great 
mediaeval  universities  were  not  brought  into  being,  we 
may  be  sure,  by  the  zeal  for  giving  a  jejune  and  con-  20 
temptible  education.     Kings  have  been  their  nursing 
fathers,  and  queens  have  been  their  nursing  mothers, 
but  not  for  this.     The  mediaeval  universities  came  into 
being,  because  the  supposed  knowledge,  delivered  by 
Scripture  and  the  Church,  so  deeply  engaged  men's  25 
hearts,  by  so  simply,  easily,  and  powerfully  relating  it- 
self to  their  desire  for  conduct,  their  desire  for  beauty. 
All  other  knowledge  was  dominated  i)y  this  supposed 
knowledge  and  was  subordinated  to  it,  because  of  the 


Literature  and  Science  331 

surpassing  strength  of  the  hold  which  it  gained  upon  the 
affections  of  men,  by  allying  itself  profoundly  with  their 
sense  for  conduct,  their  sense  for  beauty. 

But  now,  says  Professor  Huxley,  conceptions  of  the 
universe  fatal  to  the  notions  held  by  our  forefathers    5 
have  been  forced  upon  us  by  physical  science.     Grant 
to  him  that  they  are  thus  fatal,  that  the  new  conceptions 
must  and  will  soon  become  current  everywhere,  and 
that  every  one  will  finally  perceive  them  to  be  fatal 
to  the  beliefs  of  our  forefathers.     The  need  of  humane  10 
letters,  as  they  are  truly  called,  because  they  serve  the 
paramount  desire  in  men  that  good  should  be  forever 
present  to  them,  —  the  need  of  humane  letters  to  estab- 
lish a  relation  between  the  new  conceptions,  and  our       i" 
instinct  for  beauty,  our  instinct  for  conduct,  is  only  the  15 
more  visible.     The  middle  age   could  do  without  hu- 
mane letters,  as  it  could  do  without  the  study  of  nature, 
because  its  supposed  knowledge  was  made  to  engage  its 
emotions  so  powerfully.     Grant  that  the  supposed  knowl- 
edge disappears,  its  power  of  being  made  to  engage  the  20 
emotions  will  of  course  disappear  along  with  it,  —  but 
the  emotions  themselves,  and  their  claim  to  be  engaged 
and  satisfied,  will  remain.     Now  if  we  find  by  experi- 
ence that  humane  letters  have  an  undeniable  power  of 
engaging  the  emotions,  the  importance  of  humane  letters  25 
in  a  man's  training  becomes  not  less,  but  greater,  in 
proportion  to  the  success  of  modern  science  in  extirpat- 
ing what  it  calls  "  mediaeval  thinking." 

Have  humane  letters,  then,  have   poetry  and   elo- 


332  Controversy 

quence,  the  power  here  attributed  to  them  of  engaging 
the  emotions,  and  do  they  exercise  it?  And  if  they 
have  it  and  exercise  it,  how  do  they  exercise  it,  so  as 
to  exert  an  influence  upon  man's  sense  for  conduct, 
his  sense  for  beauty?  Finally,  even  if  they  both  can  5 
and  do  exert  an  influence  upon  the  senses  in  question, 
how  are  they  to  relate  to  them  the  results,  —  the 
modern  results,  —  of  natural  science  ?  All  these  ques- 
tions may  be  asked.  First,  have  poetry  and  eloquence 
the  power  of  calling  out  the  emotions?  The  appeal  10 
is  to  experience.  Experience  shows  that  for  the  vast 
majority  of  men,  for  mankind  in  general,  they  have  the 
power.  Next,  do  they  exercise  it?  They  do.  But 
then,  how  do  they  exercise  it  so  as  to  affect  man's 
sense  for  conduct,  his  sense  for  beauty?  And  this  is  15 
perhaps  a  case  for  applying  the  Preacher's  words: 
"Though  a  man  labor  to  seek  it  out,  yet  he  shall  not 
find  it ;  yea,  further,  though  a  wise  man  think  to  know 
it,  yet  shall  he  not  be  able  to  find  it."  l  Why  should  it 
be  one  thing,  in  its  effect  upon  the  emotions,  to  say,  20 
"Patience  is  a  virtue,"  and  quite  another  thing,  in  its 
effect  upon  the  emotions,  to  say  with  Homer, 

T\i)T&v  ykp  Motpat  ffvjj&v  0{<rav&v6p&Troi<Tiv — 2 

"for  an  enduring  heart  have  the  destinies  appointed 
to  the  children  of  men"  ?  Why  should  it  be  one  thing,  25 
in  its  effect  upon  the  emotions,  to  say  with  philosopher 
Spinoza,  Felicitas  in  eo  consistit  quod  homo  suum  esse 
conservare  potest  —  "Man's  happiness  consists  in  his 
:  Ecclesiastes,  viii.  17.  2 "  Iliad,"  xxiv.  49. 


Literature  and  Science 


333 


being  able  to  preserve  his  own  essence,"  and  quite  an- 
other thing,  in  its  effect  upon  the  emotions,  to  say  with 
the  Gospel,  "What  is  a  man  advantaged,  if  he  gain 
the  whole  world,  and  lose  himself,  forfeit  himself  ?" 
How  does  this  difference  of  effect  arise?  I  cannot  tell,  5 
and  I  am  not  much  concerned  to  know ;  the  important 
thing  is  that  it  does  arise,  and  that  we  can  profit  by  it. 
But  how,  finally,  are  poetry  and  eloquence  to  exercise 
the  power  of  relating  the  modern  results  of  natural 
science  to  man's  instinct  for  conduct,  his  instinct  for  10 
beauty  ?  And  here  again  I  answer  that  I  do  not  know 
how  they  will  exercise  it,  but  that  they  can  and  will 
exercise  it  I  am  sure.  I  do  not  mean  that  modern 
philosophical  poets  and  modern  philosophical  moralists 
are  to  come  and  relate  for  us,  in  express  terms,  the  results  15 
of  modern  scientific  research  to  our  instinct  for  conduct, 
our  instinct  for  beauty.  But  I  mean  that  we  shall  find, 
as  a  matter  of  experience,  if  we  know  the  best  that  has 
been  thought  and  uttered  in  the  world,  we  shall  find 
that  the  art  and  poetry  and  eloquence  of  men  who  lived,  20 
perhaps,  long  ago,  who  had  the  most  limited  natural 
knowledge,  who  had  the  most  erroneous  conceptions 
about  many  important  matters,  we  shall  find  that  this 
art,  and  poetry,  and  eloquence,  have  in  fact  not  only  the 
power  of  refreshing  and  delighting  us,  they  have  also  25 
the  power,  —  such  is  the  strength  and  worth,  in  essen- 
tials, of  their  authors'  criticism  of  life,  —  they  have  a 
fortifying,  and  elevating,  and  quickening,  and  suggest- 
ive power,  capable  of  wonderfully  helping  us  to  relate 


334  Controversy 

the  results  of  modern  science  to  our  need  for  conduct, 
our  need  for  beauty.  Homer's  conceptions  of  the 
physical  universe  were,  I  imagine,  grotesque;  but 
really,  under  the  shock  of  hearing  from  modern  science 
that  "the  world  is  not  subordinated  to  man's  use,  and  5 
that  man  is  not  the  cynosure  of  things  terrestrial,"  I 
could,  for  my  own  part,  desire  no  better  comfort  than 
Homer's  line  which  I  quoted  just  now, 

T\v}TJ)v  y&p  Mot/mi  Bvfjibv  Ofoav  avOpdiirowiv — 

"for  an  enduring  heart  have  the  destinies  appointed  to  10 
the  children  of  men  !" 

And  the  more  that  men's  minds  are  cleared,  the  more 
that  the  results  of  science  are  frankly  accepted,  the 
more  that  poetry  and  eloquence  come  to  be  received 
and  studied  as  what  in  truth  they  really  are,  —  the  15 
criticism  of  life  by  gifted  men,  alive  and  active  with 
extraordinary  power  at  an  unusual  number  of  points ;  — 
so  much  the  more  will  the  value  of  humane  letters,  and 
of  art  also,  which  is  an  utterance  having  a  like  kind  of 
power  with  theirs,  be  felt  and  acknowledged,  and  their  20 
place  in  education  be  secured. 

Let  us  therefore,  all  of  us,  avoid  indeed  as  much  as 
possible  any  invidious  comparison  between  the  merits 
of  humane  letters,  as  means  of  education,  and  the 
merits  of  the  natural  sciences.  But  when  some  Presi-  25 
dent  of  a  Section  for  Mechanical  Science  insists  on 
making  the  comparison,  and  tells  us  that  "he  who  in 
his  training  has  substituted  literature  and  history  for 
natural  science  has  chosen  the  less  useful  alternative," 


Literature  and  Science  335 

let  us  make  answer  to  him  that  the  student  of  humane 
letters  only,  will,  at  least,  know  also  the  great  general 
conceptions  brought  in  by  modern  physical  science; 
for  science,  as  Professor  Huxley  says,  forces  them  upon 
us  all.  But  the  student  of  the  natural  sciences  only,  5 
will,  by  our  very  hypothesis,  know  nothing  of  humane 
letters;  not  to  mention  that  in  setting  himself  to  be 
perpetually  accumulating  natural  knowledge,  he  sets 
himself  to  do  what  only  specialists  have  in  general 
the  gift  for  doing  genially.  And  so  he  will  probably  10 
be  unsatisfied,  or  at  any  rate  incomplete,  and  even 
more  incomplete  than  the  student  of  humane  letters 
only. 

I  once  mentioned  in  a  school  report,  how  a  young 
man  in  one  of  our  English  training  colleges  having  to  15 
paraphrase  the  passage  in  Macbeth  beginning, 

Canst  thou  not  minister  to  a  mind  diseased? 

turned  this  line  into,  "Can  you  not  wait  upon  the 
lunatic  ?"     And  I  remarked  what  a  curious  state  of 
things  it  would  be,  if  every  pupil  of  our  national  schools  20 
knew,  let  us  say,  that  the  moon  is  two  thousand  one 
hundred  and  sixty  miles  in  diameter,  and  thought  at  the 
same  time  that  a  good  paraphrase  for 

Canst  thou  not  minister  to  a  mind  diseased? 

was,  "Can  you  not  wait  upon  the  lunatic ?"     If  one  is  25 
driven  to  choose,  I  think  I  would  rather  have  a  young 
person  ignorant  about  the  moon's  diameter,  but  aware 
that  "  Can  you  not  wait  upon  the  lunatic  ?  "  is  bad,  than 


336  Controversy 

a  young  person  whose  education  had  been  such  as  to 
manage  things  the  other  way. 

Or  to  go  higher  than  the  pupils  of  our  national 
schools.  I  have  in  my  mind's  eye  a  member  of  our 
British  Parliament  who  comes  to  travel  here  in  America,  5 
who  afterwards  relates  his  travels,  and  who  shows  a 
really  masterly  knowledge  of  the  geology  of  this  great 
country  and  of  its  mining  capabilities,  but  who  ends  by 
gravely  suggesting  that  the  United  States  should  borrow 
a  prince  from  our  Royal  Family,  and  should  make  him  10 
their  king,  and  should  create  a  House  of  Lords  of  great 
landed  proprietors  after  the  pattern  of  ours;  and  then 
America,  he  thinks,  would  have  her  future  happily  and 
perfectly  secured.  Surely,  in  this  case,  the  President  of 
the  Section  for  Mechanical  Science  would  himself  hardly  15 
say  that  our  member  of  Parliament,  by  concentrating 
himself  upon  geology  and  mineralogy,  and  so  on,  and 
not  attending  to  literature  and  history,  had  "chosen 
the  more  useful  alternative." 

If  then  there  is  to  be  separation  and  option  between  20 
humane  letters   on   the  one  hand,    and   the  natural 
sciences  on  the  other,  the  great  majority  of  mankind, 
all  who  have  not  exceptional  and  overpowering  apti- 
tudes for  the  study  of  nature,  would  do  well,  I  cannot 
but  think,  to  choose  to  be  educated  in  humane  letters  25 
rather  than  in  the  natural  sciences.     Letters  will  call 
out  their  being  at  more  points,  will  make  them  live 
more. 

I  said  that  before  I   ended  I  would  just  touch  on 


Literature  and  Science  337 

the  question  of  classical  education,   and  I  will  keep 
my  word.     Even  if  literature  is  to  retain  a  large  place 
in  our  education,  yet  Latin  and  Greek,  say  the  friends 
of  progress,  will  certainly  have  to  go.     Greek  is  the 
grand  offender  in  the  eyes  of  these  gentlemen.     The    5 
attackers  of  the  established  course  of  study  think  that 
against  Greek,  at  any  rate,  they  have  irresistible  argu- 
ments.    Literature  may  perhaps  be  needed  in  educa- 
tion, they  say;   but  why  on  earth  should  it  be  Greek 
literature?    Why    not    French    or    German?      Nay,  10 
"has  not  an  Englishman  models  in  his  own  literature 
of  every  kind  of  excellence  ?"     As  before,  it  is  not  on 
any  weak  pleadings  of  my  own  that  I  rely  for  con- 
vincing the  gainsayers;    it  is  on  the  constitution  of 
human  nature  itself,  and  on  the  instinct  of  self-preser-  15 
vation  in  humanity.     The  instinct  for  beauty  is  set  in 
human  nature,  as  surely  as  the  instinct  for  knowledge 
is  set  there,  or  the  instinct  for  conduct.     If  the  in- 
stinct for  beauty  is  served  by  Greek  literature  and  art 
as  it  is  served  by  no  other  literature  and  art,  we  may  20 
trust  to  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  in  humanity 
for  keeping  Greek  as  part  of  our  culture.    €We  may 
trust  to  it  for  even  making  the  study  of  Greek  more 
prevalent  than  it  is  now.     Greek  will  come,  I  hope, 
some  day  to  be  studied  more  rationally  than  at  present ;  25 
but  it  will  be  increasingly  studied  as  men  increasingly 
feel  the  need  in  them  for  beauty,  and  how  powerfully 
Greek  art  and  Greek  literature  can  serve  this  need. 
Women  will  again  study  Greek,  as  Lady  Jane  Grey  did ; 


338  Controversy 

I  believe  that  in  that  chain  of  forts,  with  which  the  fair 
host  of  the  Amazons  are  now  engirdling  our  English 
universities,  I  find  that  here  in  America,  in  colleges  like 
Smith  College  in  Massachusetts,  and  Vassar  College  in 
the  State  of  New  York,  and  in  the  happy  families  of  the    5 
mixed  universities  out  West,  they  are  studying  it  already. 
Defuit  una  mihi  symmetric,  prisca, —  "The  antique 
symmetry  was  the  one  thing  wanting  to  me,"  said 
Leonardo  da  Vinci;    and  he  was  an  Italian.     I  will 
not   presume  to  speak  for   the   Americans,  but  I  am  10 
sure  that,  in  the  Englishman,  the  want  of  this  admirable 
symmetry  of  the  Greeks  is  a  thousand  times  more  great 
and  crying  than  in  any  Italian.     The  results  of  the  want 
show  themselves  most  glaringly,  perhaps,  in  our  archi- 
tecture, but  they  show  themselves,  also,  in  all  our  art.  15 
Fit  details  strictly  combined,  in  view  of  a  large  general 
result  nobly  conceived;  that  is  just  the  beautiful  symmetria 
prisca  of  the  Greeks,  and  it  is  just  where  we  English 
fail,  where  all  our  art  fails.     Striking  ideas  we  have, 
and  well-executed  details  we  have;  but  that  high  sym-  20 
metry  which,  with  satisfying  and  delightful  effect,  com- 
bines them,  we  seldom  or  never  have.     The  glorious 
beauty  of  the  Acropolis  at  Athens  did  not  come  from 
single  fine  things  stuck  about  on  that  hill,  a  statue 
here,  a  gateway  there ;  —  no,  it   arose  from  all  things  25 
being  perfectly  combined  for  a  supreme  total  effect. 
What  must  not  an  Englishman  feel  about  our  deficiencies 
in  this  respect,  as  the  sense  for  beauty,  whereof  this 
symmetry  is  an  essential  element,  awakens  and  strength- 


Literature  and  Science  339 

ens  within  him  !  what  will  not  one  day  be  his  respect  and 
desire  for  Greece  and  its  symmetria  prisca,  when  the 
scales  drop  from  his  eyes  as  he  walks  the  London  streets, 
and  he  sees  such  a  lesson  in  meanness  as  the  Strand,  for 
instance,  in  its  true  deformity !     But  here  we  are  coming    5 
to  our  friend  Mr.  Ruskin's  province,  and  I  will  not  in- 
trude upon  it,  for  he  is  its  very  sufficient  guardian. 

And  so  we  at  last  find,  it  seems,  we  find  flowing  in 
favor  of  the  humanities  the  natural  and  necessary 
stream  of  things,  which  seemed  against  them  when  we  10 
started.  The  "hairy  quadruped  furnished  with  a  tail 
and  pointed  ears,  probably  arboreal  in  his  habits," 
this  good  fellow  carried  hidden  in  his  nature,  appar- 
ently, something  destined  to  develop  into  a  necessity 
for  humane  letters.  Nay,  more;  we  seem  finally  to  15 
be  even  led  to  the  further  conclusion  that  our  hairy 
ancestor  carried  in  his  nature,  also,  a  necessity  for 
Greek. 

And  therefore,  to  say  the  truth,  I  cannot  really 
think  that  humane  letters  are  in  much  actual  danger  20 
of  being  thrust  out  from  their  leading  place  in  educa- 
tion, in  spite  of  the  array  of  authorities  against  them 
at  this  moment.  So  long  as  human  nature  is  what  it 
is,  their  attractions  will  remain  irresistible.  As  with 
Greek,  so  with  letters  generally:  they  will  some  day  25 
come,  we  may  hope,  to  be  studied  more  rationally, 
but  they  will  not  lose  their  place.  What  will  happen 
will  rather  be  that  there  will  be  crowded  into  educa- 
tion other  matters  besides,  far  too  many;  there  will 


34O  Controversy 

be,  perhaps,  a  period  of  unsettlement  and  confusion 
and  false  tendency;  but  letters  will  not  in  the  end  lose 
their  leading  place.     If  they  lose  it  for  a  time,  they 
will  get  it  back  again.     We  shall   be  brought  back  to 
them   by   our   wants    and   aspirations.     And    a   poor    5 
humanist  may  possess  his  soul  in  patience,  neither 
strive  nor  cry,  admit  the  energy  and  brilliancy  of  the 
partisans  of  physical  science,  and   their  present  favor 
with  the  public,  to  be  far  greater  than  his  own,  and 
still  have  a  happy  faith  that  the  nature  of  things  works  10 
silently  on  behalf  of  the  studies  which  he  loves,  and 
that,  while  we  shall  all  have  to  acquaint  ourselves  with 
the  great  results  reached  by  modern  science,  and  to 
give  ourselves  as  much  training  in  its  disciplines  as  we 
can  conveniently  carry,  yet  the  majority  of  men  will  15 
always  require  humane  letters ;  and  so  much  the  more, 
as  they  have  the  more  and  the  greater  results  of  science 
to  relate  to  the  need  in  man  for  conduct,  and  to  the 
need  in  him  for  beauty. 


NOTES 

A  FEW  words  in  explanation  of  the  nature  of  the  notes 
may  not  be  out  of  place.  The  aim  throughout  has  been 
to  suggest  how  each  selection  may  profitably  be  studied, 
rather  than  to  state  didactically  its  essential  character- 
istics. Such  a  method  obviates  the  student's  tendency 
to  acquire  a  superficial  knowledge  of  the  passage  with- 
out reading  it,  which  would  entirely  defeat  the  pur- 
pose of  the  book;  and  it  also  enables  the  instructor  to 
supplement  and  adapt  the  treatment  indicated,  in  any 
manner  he  may  wish.  If  a  rhetoric  is  being  studied  in 
conjunction  with  these  specimens,  the  various  principles 
of  Composition,  both  structural  and  stylistic,  may  well 
be  illustrated  by  reference  to  the  separate  selections. 
The  longer  selections  may  perhaps  best  be  studied 
for  principles  of  structure,  paragraph  transition,  and 
the  other  broader  principles  of  Composition;  while  the 
shorter  passages  will  afford  practice  in  analysis  for  the 
various  qualities  of  style,  sentence  structure,  etc. 

A  DAY  IN   AN   OXFORD  COLLEGE 

Narrative  becomes  expository  when  single  occur- 
rences of  a  similar  kind  are  blended  into  a  composite; 
when,  instead  of  a  specific  instance,  there  is  reported 
a  generalized  account  of  some  incident  or  sequence  of 

341 


342  Notes 

incidents.  In  this  selection  the  narrative  adapts  itself 
to  a  typical  rather  than  to  an  actual  day  at  Oxford. 
The  dinner  in  Hall,  the  evening  on  the  lawn,  are 
described  in  terms  which  convey  a  general  impression 
of  those  occurrences,  —  not  with  the  specific  accuracy 
which  would  characterize  the  single  event.  The  narra- 
tive is  not  generalized,  however,  to  the  point  of  vague- 
ness, but  is  made  vivid  and  interesting  by  the  occa- 
sional use  of  concrete  illustrations,  e.g.  the  crafty  brother 
of  the  Trinity  man,  p.  7,  1.  4;  the  anxious  Crimson 
correspondent,  p.  5,  1.  20.  In  expository  narrative 
such  illustrations  must  of  necessity  be  subordinated. 

The  selection  will  repay  study  for  the  way  in  which 
the  diction  reflects  the  subject-matter.  The  author's 
thorough  sympathy  with  the  Oxford  spirit  now  shows 
itself  in  humorous  turns  of  phrase  in  dealing  with  the 
lighter  side  of  college  life;  and  again  approaches  to 
eloquence  in  its  appreciation  of  the  nobler  traditions  of 
the  university.  The  slang  serves  to  enliven  the  nar- 
rative. 

The  specimen  lends  itself  readily  to  imitation  by  the 
student. 

NATURE  IN  ENGLAND 

Description  becomes  expository  under  the  same 
general  conditions  that  narrative  does.  This  selec- 
tion, for  instance,  instead  of  bringing  before  the  mind  a 
sharply  outlined  impression  from  which  a  picture  might 
be  drawn,  portrays  the  features  common  to  English 


Notes  343 

landscape  in  general,  as  they  presented  themselves  to 
the  author's  accurate  and  appreciative  observation. 

The  description  begins  with  a  general  impression 
whose  component  parts  are  taken  up  in  turn  and  treated 
in  some  detail.  Is  this  the  natural  order  in  descrip- 
tion ?  The  transitional  sentences  are  worthy  of  notice. 

This  selection  may  profitably  be  studied  for  its  style : 
its  figures  (e.g.  p.  12,  1.  7),  its  diction  (p.  12,  1.  10), 
and  its  sentence  structure  (p.  16,  1.  15).  There  are 
many  other  examples  of  these  qualities  which  the 
student  will  do  well  to  discover  for  himself. 

The  Tennyson  quotation  on  p.  13  is  from  "  Audley 
Court." 

HOW  BOOKS   ARE   MADE 

The  opening  paragraphs  arouse  the  reader's  inter- 
est by  appealing  to  his  curiosity  in  regard  to  the  various 
processes  of  publication  of  which  he  previously  had 
little  knowledge  or  interest.  The  order,  as  in  most  ex- 
planations of  a  process,  is  chronological,  thus  making 
smooth  paragraph  transition  easy  and  natural.  The 
style  is  such  as  should  be  at  the  command  of  every 
educated  man,  for  this  is  just  the  kind  of  composition 
he  is  likely  to  be  called  upon  to  write. 

A  SIMPLE  EXPLANATION  OF  WIRELESS  TELEGRAPHY 

In  this  selection  the  author  assumes  a  general  inter- 
est in  his  subject,  and  endeavors  to  overcome  the 
average  reader's  prejudice  against  the  technicality  of 
most  scientific  exposition.  The  order  is  not,  as  in  the 


344  Notes 

previous  selection,  chronological,  but  advances  from 
the  more  simple  to  the  more  complex.  The  style  is 
admirable  for  its  freedom  from  technicality  in  the 
elucidation  of  an  involved  subject.  The  explanation 
is  aided  by  carefully  elaborated  analogies  which  de- 
pend for  their  effectiveness  on  accuracy  and  ease  of 
comprehension.  It  should  be  noted  that  no  difficulty 
in  the  explanation  has  been  shirked;  even  the  details, 
such  as  the  nature  of  the  electric  wave,  are  made  clear 
by  the  same  method.  Such  a  method  may  well  be  used 
as  a  model  by  the  student  attempting  this  very  practical 
form  of  Exposition. 

The  second  paragraph,  though  it  consists  of  but  one 
short  sentence,  is  justifiable  because  it  states  an  analogy 
that  is  elaborated  at  considerable  length  in  succeeding 
paragraphs.  It  may  be  compared  in  its  purpose  with 
the  third  paragraph  of  the  preceding  selection. 

ARTIST  AND  MORALIST 

The  first  half  of  the  paragraph  is  chiefly  notable  for 
its  parallel  construction,  a  form  appropriate  in  draw- 
ing distinctions.  The  student  should  note,  moreover, 
the  varied  emphasis  given  to  this  construction  in  order 
to  avoid  monotony.  Observe,  for  example,  the  recur- 
rence of  the  one  —  the  other,  but  with  varying  degrees 
of  sentence  emphasis.  Can  you  find  another  example 
of  this  construction  in  the  paragraph? 

The  final  sentence  should  be  studied  minutely  for  its 
rhythm,  diction,  and  the  proportion  of  its  parts. 


Notes  345 

RELIGION  AND   MORALITY 

The  outline  of  the  definition  is  this:  first,  the  in- 
herent unity  of  the  terms  is  brought  out;  then,  in  a 
single  sentence,  the  distinction  is  indicated  (p.  50 ,  1.  5), 
which  is  steadily  developed  until  it  can  be  concisely 
summarized  (p.  51,  1.  6);  and  finally,  this  summary 
is  enforced  by  further  amplification. 

The  clearness  of  this  distinction  between  abstract 
terms  is  made  possible  by  the  effective  use  of  aptly 
chosen  concrete  illustrations. 

VALUE 

This  definition  is  notable  for  its  inclusion  of  the 
various  possible  meanings  of  the  term  "  value"  and 
the  explanation  of  each  by  concrete  illustration.  The 
clinching  of  the  thought  in  a  final  paragraph  illustrates 
the  principle  of  Emphasis. 

PATHOS 

The  introductory  paragraph  should  be  studied  and 
imitated  for  its  direct  statement  of  the  scope  and  em- 
phasis of  the  theme.  The  last  sentence  indicates  both 
the  division  of  the  subject  and  the  sequence  of  topics. 

p.  54,  1.  12.  This  paragraph  has  two  main  divi- 
sions :  the  definition  in  the  abstract,  and  the  relation  of 
the  definition  to  the  person.  This  second  division  has 
three  parts,  which  the  student  should  discover  for  himself. 

Though  the  sensitive  nature,  1.   14.     What   is   the 


346  Notes 

purpose  of  the  repetition  of  this  phrase  here  and  in  the 
following  sentence  ?  Find  also  in  the  following  sentence 
a  variant  phrase  for  the  same  idea. 

helpful,  1.  1 8.  To  what  adjective  in  the  preceding 
sentence  does  this  correspond?  What  rhetorical  pur- 
pose does  the  correspondence  of  position  serve? 

In  an  ideally  perfect  nature  .  .  .,  p.  55,  1.  4.  Entire 
selfishness  .  .  .,  1.  9.  In  the  great  mass  of  men  and 
women  .  .  .,  1.  n.  Note  how  the  movement  of  thought 
is  made  clear  by  the  parallel  construction. 

that  is,  pathos,  1.  14.  What  effect  has  this  phrase 
on  the  unity  and  emphasis  of  the  paragraph? 

1.  17.  This  paragraph  relates  the  abstract  defini- 
tion to  the  field  of  art,  and  secures,  with  many 
illustrations  from  literature,  the  emphasis  indicated 
in  the  introduction.  What  effect  have  these  illustra- 
tions on  the  clearness  and  convincingness  of  the 
definitions  ? 

Fair  Rosamond's  sorrows,  p.  56,  1.  12.  William 
Warner:  "Albion's  England,"  Book  8,  Chapter  41. 

Nought  is  there,  etc.,  1.  18.  Spenser's  "  Faery 
Queene,"  Book  I,  Canto  3. 

tempering  extremities,  etc.,  p.  57,  1.  6.  "Romeo  and 
Juliet,"  Prologue  to  Act  II. 

crown,   1.  9. 

Comfort  ?  comfort  scorn'd  of  devils !  this  is  truth  the  poet  sings, 
That  a  sorrow's  crown  of  sorrow  is  remembering  happier  things. 
—  TENNYSON'S  "  Locksley  Hall." 


Notes  347 

p.  58,  1.  7.  Do  you  notice  any  violation  of  unity 
in  this  paragraph? 

The  final  paragraph  recalls  the  definitions  of  pathos, 
and  justifies  its  wide  occurrence  in  art. 

THE  SOCIAL  VALUE  OF  THE  COLLEGE-BRED 

The  selection,  after  the  introductory  paragraph,  falls 
into  three  main  divisions:  first,  the  definition  of  the 
function  of  college  training ;  second,  the  relation  of  that 
training  to  democracy;  finally,  the  importance  of  this 
relationship.  The  address  easily  and  naturally  assumes 
the  persuasive  tone  in  the  closing  division ;  none  of  the 
forms  of  composition  needs  wholly  to  exclude  the  others, 
and  the  persuasive  element  is  particularly  appropriate 
in  public  address. 

How  is  the  method  of  presentation  adapted  to  the 
occasion?  Would  the  abrupt  opening  and  the  imme- 
diate answer  to  the  question  therein  propounded  be  so 
appropriate  in  an  essay  not  delivered  orally?  Would 
the  homely  but  striking  metaphors  be  so  likely  to 
abound  in  an  essay  intended  for  reading  ?  Is  the  inter- 
rogative form  used  more  frequently  than  would  be 
natural  in  written  discourse? 

A  NEW  DEFINITION   OF  THE  CULTIVATED  MAN 

The  clear  and  firm  outlines  of  this  selection  are  ob- 
viously the  result  of  cogent  thinking  before  composi- 
tion was  undertaken. 


348  Notes 

These  outlines,  although  so  apparent,  should  be 
drawn  up  in  detailed  tabular  form  by  the  student,  under 
the  general  headings  of  Introduction  (with  its  subdi- 
visions), Body,  and  Conclusion.  In  longer  composi- 
tions this  is  the  clearest  method  of  making  evident  the 
skillful  coordination  of  parts. 

THE  YOUNG  MAN'S  FUTURE 

The  outlines  are  very  clear.  Are  they  too  much 
emphasized?  How  is  the  introduction  adapted  to  the 
occasion?  Compare  it  with  the  introduction  to  Pro- 
fessor James's  article.  Would  the  paragraphs  p.  93, 
1.  7  and  1.  n,  be  better  combined?  Find  a  paragraph 
which  employs  repetition  for  the  sake  of  emphasis. 

E.  &  O.  E.j  p.  90,  1.  16,  signifying  "Errors  and 
Omissions  Excepted,"  are  very  old  terms  which  are 
used  for  the  purpose  of  showing  that  the  account  ren- 
dered is  not  binding  and  is  subject  to  correction. 

THE  CHARACTER   OF   THE   INDIAN 

Observe  the  outlines  of  the  selection.  They  are  not 
so  obtrusive  as  those  of  the  preceding  specimen.  Are 
they  as  clear? 

The  essay  should  be  studied  especially  for  (i)  co- 
herence, (2)  diction,  and  (3)  the  rhythmical  balance 
of  its  sentences.  We  give  one  or  two  examples  of 
each;  the  student  should  find  others  for  himself. 

(i)  The  sentence  beginning,  A mongjM  savages  .  .  ., 

p.  101,  1.20. 


Notes  349, 

(2)  tricked  outj  p.  98,  1.  5. 

(3)  In  the  midst  of  his  family  .  .  .,  p.  n 
Ambition,  revenge  .  .  .,  p.  99,  1.  22. 


101,  1.  14. 


HENRY  DAVID  THOREAU 

The  somewhat  biased  attitude  toward  Thoreau  in  the 
essay  of  which  this  is  the  beginning  is  modified  in  the 
preface  to  the  "Familiar  Studies." 

The  brilliancy  of  style  and  the  precision  of  phrase 
should  be  observed.  Let  the  student  discover  examples 
of  aptly  chosen  words  and  phrases.  He  might  also 
endeavor  to  find  some  dominant  trait  of  Thoreau's 
character  in  which  all  others  blend,  and  which  gives 
rhetorical  unity  to  the  selection. 

THE  DESCENT  FROM  THE  CROSS 

This  illustrates  a  kind  of  work  which  may  be  profit- 
ably undertaken  by  students  who  find  it  congenial. 
They  should  note  that  the  painting  is  portrayed  for  the 
eye,  as  well  as  interpreted  to  the  mind. 

HABITS 

The  danger  in  writing  upon  an  abstract  subject  lies 
in  the  tendency  to  become  diffuse  and  vague.  The 
danger,  moreover,  in  the  informal  style  of  writing  is  to 
allow  the  conversational  tone  to  lead  one  into  digres- 
sions from  which  there  is  no  return  to  the  main  subject. 
In  this  essay  vagueness  is  avoided  by  relating  the 


350  Notes 

abstract  subject  to  Mr.  Pater's  dictum,  and  then  by  em- 
ploying concrete  illustrations ;  discursiveness  is  avoided 
by  such  phrases  as,  the  point  is>  by  careful  though 
unobtrusive  paragraph  transitions,  and  by  the  summary 
in  the  concluding  paragraph. 

Milton's  friend,  p.  115,  1.  7.  Sonnet  entitled  "  To 
Mr.  Lawrence." 

SOCIAL   LIFE   IN   AMERICA 

This  selection  illustrates  how  ease  of  style  may  be 
combined  with  accuracy  and  fullness  of  information. 
This  is  partly  the  result  of  a  thorough  assimilation  of 
the  material.  The  selection  has  a  narrative  basis  which 
the  student  should  analyze. 

Such  students  as  may  have  had  the  requisite  prepa- 
ration might  well  undertake  this  kind  of  essay,  noting 
not  only  its  structure  and  style  but  also  its  careful  cita- 
tion of  references. 

EMERSON 

This  essay  is  remarkable  for  its  critical  penetra- 
tion, and  for  the  exquisite  harmony  of  its  style.  We 
advise  the  student  to  read  this  selection  aloud  in 
order  to  cultivate  his  appreciation  of  rhythm  and 
diction. 

latest  lorn,  etc.,  p.  147,  1.  25.  Keats's  "  Ode  to 
Psyche. " 


Notes  351 

ON  THE  READING  OF  NEWSPAPERS 

The  eloquence  of  this  selection,  and  the  fact  that  it 
appeals  to  the  hearer's  emotion  rather  than  to  his  reason, 
are  among  the  qualities  which  make  it  Persuasion  rather 
than  Argument.  How  would  an  argument  on  the  same 
subject  differ? 

THE   SPIRIT  OF  DEVOTION 

This  passage  contains  a  more  substantial  basis  of 
thought  than  the  preceding;  and  yet  it  is  Persuasion 
because  it  is  hortatory  in  tone,  and  appeals  to  the  ideals 
of  its  hearers.  Even  so,  must  it  not  be  less  effective  in 
print  than  when  originally  delivered  ? 

Can  you  summarize  the  thought  of  the  address  in 
a  sentence?  Can  you  draw  a  brief  from  it?  What 
does  this  suggest  as  to  a  distinction  between  Per- 
suasion and  Argument  ? 

THE   BRIEF 

Introduction :  The  most  important  part  of  the  intro- 
duction is  the  finding  of  the  special  issues  on  which  the 
proof  of  the  question  is  to  rest.  The  question  in  its  wider 
aspect  is  thus  resolved  into  its  elements,  and  the  writer 
is  enabled  to  see  just  what  the  points  of  contention  are 
and  how  they  may  best  be  arranged  and  proved.  The 
importance  of  thus  defining  the  special  issues  is  perhaps 
exceeded,  from  the  student's  point  of  view,  by  its  diffi- 


352  Notes 

culty.  He  knows,  of  course,  that  they  result  from  the 
clash  of  the  affirmative  and  negative  contentions,  yet  he 
rarely  achieves  a  brief  in  which  they  are  drawn  simply 
and  logically  from  these  contentions,  without  evasion 
of  some  of  them,  or  the  introduction  of  material  not  duly 
accounted  for.  We  therefore  suggest  a  method  which, 
if  practiced  with  such  flexibility  as  the  conditions  of  dif- 
ferent cases  may  determine,  will  result  in  a  well-cor- 
related introduction.  It  should  be  remembered  that 
we  do  not  have  in  mind  the  preparation  of  a  brief  for 
a  debate  in  which  the  opposing  parties  have  agreed  on 
the  meaning  of  ambiguous  terms  and  the  scope  of  the 
question,  but  for  a  written  argument  which  is  to  be 
an  independent  contribution  to  the  discussion  of  the 
question. 

We  will  assume  that  the  student,  by  careful  reading 
and  thinking,  has  gained  a  reasonable  mastery  of  his 
subject,  and  has  made  note,  in  the  progress  of  his  study, 
of  the  contentions  on  both  sides,  trying  at  the  same  time 
to  distinguish  between  those  which  may  be  called  the 
main  contentions  and  those  which  are  subordinate. 
His  problem  now  is  to  determine,  by  comparing  and 
combining  the  opposing  arguments,  the  "special  issues" 
on  which  the  discussion  of  the  question  is  going  to  turn. 
This  may  profitably  be  done  in  the  following  manner :  — 

He  should  set  down  the  main  contentions  on  each 
side  in  columns  headed  respectively  Affirmative  and 
Negative,  and  then  compare  them  in  detail  with  a  view 
to  combining  those  which  correspond.  The  important 


Notes  353 

fact  to  be  remembered  in  this  process  is  that  no  issue 
can  result  from  the  conflict  of  unlike  contentions,  but 
only  from  opposing  statements  on  the  same  contention. 
In  this  connection  the  student  would  do  well  to  note 
Lincoln's  method,  and  even  to  memorize  his  words, 
p.  290, 1.4:  "You  say  we  are  sectional.  We  deny 
it.  That  makes  an  issue;  and  the  burden  of  proof  is 
upon  you."  Or,  to  take  an  example  from  the  brief  here 
printed,  the  headings  A,  B,  and  C  of  Section  VII  exactly 
oppose  the  corresponding  headings  in  Section  VIII. 
The  separate  contentions  stand  in  this  case  in  unusually 
close  relations  with  one  another,  and  yet  heading  A  un- 
der Section  VII  would  not  make  an  issue  with  heading  B 
of  Section  VIII.  This  principle  will  not,  however,  em- 
barrass the  student  in  his  task  of  combining  the  con- 
tentions in  the  opposing  columns,  but  will  really  assist 
him.  Even  though  the  columns  show  an  unequal  num- 
ber of  contentions,  the  task  can  readily  be  accomplished. 
We  will  suppose,  to  illustrate  the  process,  that  the  stu- 
dent finds  five  contentions  in  the  Affirmative  column 
and  three  in  the  Negative.  He  is  pretty  sure  to  find,  on 
comparison,  that  the  three  negative  contentions  will 
squarely  oppose,  at  least  with  some  slight  changes  in 
the  phrasing,  three  of  the  affirmative  contentions,  and 
resolve  themselves  into  "special  issues."  The  question 
now  is  what  to  do  with  the  two  remaining  affirmative 
contentions.  A  number  of  solutions  are  to  be  consid- 
ered. One  or  both  of  the  contentions  may  be  found 
to  deal  with  phases  of  the  question  which  are  to  be 

2A 


354  Notes 

declared  outside  the  present  discussion,  and  should  be 
relegated  to  the  section  of  the  introduction  devoted  to 
the  questions  waived.  Or  these  contentions  may  be 
found  to  be  such  as  the  negative  will  choose  to  concede, 
and  will  accordingly  be  placed  under  the  section  of  the 
introduction  devoted  to  concessions  or  mutual  agree- 
ments. Or  it  may  be  that  these  contentions  will  be 
regarded  by  the  negative  as  fallacious,  in  which  case 
they  will  be  reserved  for  special  refutation  in  the  proof. 
Finally,  and  perhaps  most  likely,  the  lack  of  opposing 
statements  for  these  contentions  may  be  found  to  be 
the  result  of  an  imperfect  knowledge  of  the  question, 
and  must  be  made  the  basis  of  further  investigation,  in 
the  pursuance  of  which  the  contrary  evidence  will  be 
discovered,  the  opposing  contentions  phrased,  and 
these  two,  like  the  others,  will  resolve  themselves  into 
"  special  issues."  These  issues  will  then  be  arranged 
in  the  order  which  seems  most  effective,  ambiguous 
terms  will  be  defined,  a  topical  history  of  the  question 
will  be  placed  at  the  beginning,  and  the  result  will  be  a 
logical  and  symmetrical  introduction  which  will  form  a 
secure  basis  for  extended  proof. 

Proof:  In  the  body  of  the  brief  the  special  issues 
should  be  taken  up  in  the  order  of  their  arrangement 
in  the  introduction,  and  substantiated  by  appending  the 
evidence  in  concise  and  suggestive  sentences  which 
stand  in  causal  relation  to  the  main  headings.  If  the 
special  issues  are  at  all  complex,  they  must  be  broken 
up  into  their  component  parts,  each  of  which  will  be 


Notes  355 

proved  in  turn.  The  purpose  of  such  analysis  is  not  to 
make  a  more  complex  tabulation,  but  to  reduce  each 
statement  to  its  lowest  terms,  so  that  the  student  may 
see  just  what  it  involves,  and  just  how  he  may  prove  it 
most  effectively  and  avoid  the  many  pitfalls  of  fallacious 
reasoning.  In  the  brief  here  printed,  the  special  issues 
are  not  subdivided,  this  having  been  already  done  in 
the  introduction,  in  the  fivefold  definition  of  a  "  satis- 
factory government." 

INTRODUCTIONS 

Perhaps  no  part  of  a  composition,  whether  it  be  ex- 
pository or  argumentative,  presents  more  difficulty  than 
the  opening  paragraph  or  paragraphs.  In  Exposition 
the  function  of  the  introduction  is  to  state  the  subject- 
matter,  and  indicate  the  method  of  treatment.  As  a 
rule  this  can  be  done  in  a  single  paragraph,  as  it  is  done, 
for  example,  in  the  essay  on  Pathos,  and  in  the  Explana- 
tion of  Wireless  Telegraphy.  At  times,  of  course,  special 
conditions  may  call  for  a  more  extended  introduction, 
as  did  the  circumstances  under  which  Mr.  Vanderlip's 
address  was  delivered,  and  the  argumentative  element 
of  President  Eliot's  address.  But  the  typical  merits 
of  an  expository  introduction  are  naturalness,  direct- 
ness, and  conciseness.  Often,  indeed,  a  formal  intro- 
duction may  be  dispensed  with  altogether.  Mr.  Ben- 
son entered  naturally  and  easily  upon  his  theme  by  sim- 
ple reference  to  Mr.  Pater's  pronouncement;  Stevenson 
and  Parkman  moved  directly,  yet  not  abruptly,  into 


356  Notes 

their  subjects  within  the  limits  of  a  single  sentence. 
Varied  in  length  as  the  introduction  may  be,  the  prob- 
lem is,  in  Exposition,  comparatively  simple.  It  is 
to  state  in  as  natural,  concise,  and  direct  a  manner  as 
the  subject  and  the  relation  of  the  subject  to  readers 
or  hearers  will  allow,  the  thing  to  be  explained  and 
the  method  of  explanation. 

In  Argument  the  introduction  is  a  much  more  com- 
plex matter.  The  student  must  not  baldly  state  the 
question  and  proceed  at  once  to  defend  or  to  oppose 
it,  as  he  is  wont  to  do.  No  debatable  question  can  be 
intelligently  discussed  until  it  has  been  adequately  ex- 
plained ;  in  short,  the  argument  itself  must  be  preceded 
by  an  essay  in  exposition.  How  long  this  prefatory 
matter  shall  become  depends  upon  the  question  at  issue 
and  the  proposed  manner  of  treatment.  It  may  be 
a  relatively  brief  statement  of  why  the  question  is  to  be 
discussed,  or  it  may  be  an  elaborate  explanation  of  the 
question  together  with  its  past  and  present  significance. 
This  range  of  material  is  illustrated  both  in  the  introduc- 
tions to  the  arguments  and  in  the  special  introductions, 
and  perhaps  deserves  a  few  words  of  comment  here. 

One  of  the  simplest  methods  of  introduction  is  to 
state  the  timeliness  of  the  subject,  why  it  has  been 
chosen,  or  what  makes  it  important.  This  serves  as  a 
natural  and  easy  entrance  upon  the  question  to  be  dis- 
cussed, and  to  arouse  interest  —  a  factor  not  to  be  dis- 
regarded in  any  statement  of  opinion.  Mr.  Oilman 
has  done  this  in  the  first  specimen. 


Notes  357 

The  Outlook  article  states  the  contentions  of  each 
side.  This  method  is  valuable  as  a  means  of  placing 
before  the  reader  or  hearer  sufficient  information  to 
enable  him  to  follow,  with  more  interest  and  understand- 
ing, the  question  in  debate.  It  also  makes  clear  the 
writer's  plan  of  refutation,  should  he  employ  any.  Its 
main  importance  consists  in  helping  to  define  the  issue. 
Defining  the  issue  is  perhaps  the  most  necessary  func- 
tion of  the  entire  introduction.  Everything  that 
has  preceded  will  prove  fruitless  if  there  does  not 
follow  a  lucid  statement  of  the  exact  point  or  points 
upon  which  the  proof  is  to  be  based.  The  issue  is 
derived  from  the  conflicting  opinions  adduced  by 
both  sides,  and  serves  as  a  focus  for  the  opposing 
arguments. 

When  a  question  can  best  be  understood  in  its  present 
significance  by  a  knowledge  of  the  attitude  that  has 
previously  been  accorded  it,  a  review  of  its  history  in  as 
concise  and  succinct  a  manner  as  possible  is  advisable. 
This  forms  a  logical  and  coherent  sequence  of  thought 
in  which  there  naturally  follows  a  statement  of  the  at- 
titude to  be  assumed  by  the  present  writer.  He  states 
his  position  by  excluding  whatever  may  be  extraneous, 
and  so  limits  the  subject  to  serve  his  special  purpose. 
Mr.  Low  and  Mr.  Myers  have  done  this  admirably. 

The  introduction  is  often  made  the  place  for  con- 
cession. This  helps  to  clear  the  ground  of  what  the 
writer  considers  unessential  to  the  successful  discus- 
sion of  the  subject  under  debate. 


358  Notes 

Of  course  any  terms  in  the  statement  of  the  proposi- 
tion which  might  be  misleading  or  ambiguous  must  be 
denned.  Unless  this  is  done,  argument  will  prove  futile, 
for  until  the  exact  meaning  of  the  terms  of  the  proposi- 
tion are  agreed  upon,  no  intelligent  decision  can  be 
reached. 

There  is  no  intention  to  imply  that  every  introduc- 
tion to  an  argument  should  include  all  these  elements. 
In  every  introduction,  however,  there  should  appear  a 
formal  presentation  of  the  subject  to  be  treated;  and 
this  can  only  be  done  by  employing  some  one  or  more 
of  the  elements  here  indicated. 

ASSUMPTIONS   ARE  NOT   PROOF 

The  effectiveness  of  this  argument  is  largely  depend- 
ent on  the  careful  construction,  which  should  be  mi- 
nutely studied  in  a  brief.  The  title  of  the  argument, 
and  the  method  by  which  it  is  conducted,  illustrate  a 
very  important  principle  of  argumentation. 

OBJECTIONS   TO   A   POSTAL   SAVINGS    BANK 

This  argument  is  admirably  constructed,  and  the  stu- 
dent will  gain  proficiency  in  briefing  by  reducing  it 
to  brief  form. 

The  whole  weight  of  the  argument  is  thrown  upon 
one  line  of  proof,  —  that  the  proposed  innovation  is  not 
the  wisest  that  could  be  adopted,  — supported  positively 
by  analogies  drawn  from  England  and  Ireland,  and 
negatively  by  the  success  of  other  methods  in  this  coun- 


Notes  359 

try.  Both  sides  of  this  argument  are  enforced  by  the 
introduction  of  evidence.  Elaboration  of  one  line  of 
evidence  is  more  effective  than  a  larger  number  of 
undeveloped  arguments. 

Note  the  concession  in  the  introductory  paragraph 
and  at  the  close.  Does  this  strengthen  or  weaken  the 
argument  as  a  whole? 

THE   TRAINING   OF   INTELLECT 

This  passage  has  the  vigor  of  phrasing  which  makes 
a  spoken  address  effective.  Some  students  may  wish 
to  refute  the  argument  or  to  uphold  it  by  original  proof. 

CHILD   LABOR  IN  THE   UNITED   STATES 

The  restrained  eloquence  of  the  style  of  this  argu- 
ment is  appropriate  to  the  subject  treated. 

The  nature  of  the  question  is  such  that  refutation  is 
of  more  importance  than  adducing  positive  proof. 

What  is  the  purpose  of  the  extended  history  of  the 
question  ? 

THE   CORNER   STONES   OF   MODERN  DRAMA 

The  introduction  supplies  a  full  and  elaborated  his- 
tory of  the  question  on  which  the  entire  argument  is 
based.  The  body  is  notable  for  its  analysis  of  the 
"primary"  and  "secondary"  causes  of  the  weakness 
and  degradation  of  the  drama,  of  the  general  public 
and  its  relation  to  the  theater,  and  of  the  "  corner  stones." 
The  conclusion  is  persuasive  and  enforces  the  preceding 


360  Notes 

arguments  by  an  eloquent  emotional  appeal.     Here  and 
in  the  exhortation  to  those  who  are  indifferent  to  the 
theater  is  illustrated  the  frequent  and  effective  union  of 
the  appeal  to  the  emotions  and  to  the  reason. 
The  quotation  on  p.  264  is  from  "  Woodnotes,"  part  II. 

IS    MUSIC    THE    TYPE    OR    MEASURE    OF    ALL    ART? 

The  student  might  well  imitate  in  his  own  refutation 
the  full  and  fair  statement  of  the  opposing  view  illus- 
trated in  this  selection. 

At  the  very  beginning  two  opposing  views  of  the  pur- 
pose of  art  are  indicated,  and  this  antithesis  is  carried  on 
until,  each  having  been  refuted  in  turn,  a  third  view  is 
suggested  and  defended. 

The  paragraph  beginning,  Just  as  the  subjectivity, 
p.  277,  1.  19,  is  noteworthy  for  its  nice  distinctions. 

REFUTATION 

A  few  examples  of  refutation  are  included  because  it 
is  so  often  neglected  by  the  student,  and  because  it  is  in 
itself  a  valuable  mental  exercise.  Number  I  illustrates 
the  "reductio  ad  absurdum  ";  Number  II,  the  "di- 
lemma"; Number  III,  "exposing  a  fallacy."  Number 
IV  so  abounds  in  practical  illustrations  of  argumen- 
tative principles,  that  the  student  should  be  asked  to 
discover  them  for  himself. 

Our  fathers  who  framed  the  government  .  .  .,  p.  291, 
1.  12.  The  full  significance  of  this_  phrase,  which  is 
repeated  for  the  sake  of  irony,  may  be  appreciated  by 


Notes  361 

noting  this  excerpt  from  the  beginning  of  the  speech. 
"In  his  speech  last  autumn  at  Columbus,  Ohio,  as 
reported  in  the  New  York  Times,  Senator  Douglas  said : 
1  Our  fathers,  when  they  framed  the  government  under 
which  we  live,  understood  this  question  just  as  well, 
and  even  better,  than  we  do  now.' 

"  I  fully  indorse  this,  and  I  adopt  it  as  a  text  for  this 
discourse. " 

SCIENCE   AND   CULTURE 

The  unity  and  coherence  of  this  argument  are  ob- 
tained by  logical  analysis.  The  whole  subject  of 
scientific  education  is  first  divided  into  the  attitude 
taken  toward  it  by  the  practical  man  and  by  the  hu- 
manist. The  first  topic,  as  being  of  relatively  less  im- 
portance, presently  yields  to  the  weightier  arguments 
of  the  humanist.  His  position,  as  typified  by  Mr. 
Arnold,  is  again  divided  into  two  distinct  propositions, 
the  first  of  which  is  conceded,  and  the  second  refuted 
at  length.  The  main  argument,  which  is  introduced  by 
the  paragraph  on  p.  301,  is  supported  by  extended 
and  forceful  proof,  except  for  the  loophole  which  Mr. 
Arnold  so  ingeniously  discovered. 

LITERATURE   AND   SCIENCE 

This  argument,  like  Professor  Huxley's,  is  also  re- 
markably unified  and  coherent.  How  are  these  quali- 
ties obtained?  The  first  division  of  the  argument 
turns  on  a  definition  of  terms,  which  illustrates  the 


362  Notes 

practical  value  of  making  clear  the  exact  meaning  of 
all  ambiguous  words  or  phrases. 

We  quote  Mr.  Gates' s  admirable  note  on  this  selec- 
tion.1 "  The  lecture  is  a  temperate  but  comprehensive 
and  vigorous  plea  for  the  humanities  in  education;  to 
many  believers  in  '  the  classics '  its  arguments  seem 
still  unanswered.  The  students  should  note  particu- 
larly its  easy  conversational  tone,  and  its  method  of 
'  winding  into  a  subject/  its  concreteness  and  close 
adherence  to  life,  its  pleasant  use  of  illustrations,  its 
delicately  venomous  irony,  its  mocking  repetition  of 
catch  words  and  quotations,  and  its  fine  sanity  and  sub- 
limated worldly  wisdom ;  in  all  these  respects  it  is  a 
thoroughly  characteristic  piece  of  Arnold's  prose  at 
its  best." 

Diotima  .  .  .  once  explained,  p.  326,  1.  6.  See  the 
"Symposium";  Jowett's  "The  Dialogues  of  Plato," 
I.  451,  etc.  (Gates). 

1  Selections  from  Matthew  Arnold.    Henry  Holt  &  Co. 


A  LIST  OF  BOOKS  FOR  TEACHERS 

Published  by  The  Macmillan  Company 


BAGLEY,  WILLIAM  CHANDLER.  Classroom  Management :  Its  Principles 
and  Technique.  By  William  Chandler  Bagley,  Superintendent  of  the 
Training  Department,  State  Normal  School,  Oswego,  N.Y. 

Cloth.     I2mo.     xvii -\- 352  pages.     $1.25  net. 

The  Educative  Process.         Cloth.    i2mo.    xix -\- 358  pages .    $1.25  net. 

BUTLER,  NICHOLAS  MURRAY.  The  Meaning  of  Education,  and  Other 
Essays  and  Addresses.  By  Nicholas  Murray  Butler,  President  of  Colum- 
bia University.  Cloth.  i2mo.  xii-\- 230  pages.  $i.oonet. 

CHUBB,  PERCIVAL.  The  Teaching  of  English.  By  Percival  Chubb,  Princi- 
pal of  High  School  Department,  Ethical  Culture  School,  New  York. 

Cloth.     I2mo.     xvii  -f-  411  pages.    $>r.oonet. 

COLLAR,  GEORGE,  AND  CROOK,  CHARLES  W.  School  Management  and 
Methods  of  Instruction.  By  George  Collar  and  Charles  W.  Crook, 
London.  Cloth.  I2mo.  viii+ 336  pages.  $i.oonet. 

CRONSON,  BERNARD.  Methods  in  Elementary  School  Studies.  By 
Bernard  Cronson,  A.B.,  Ph.D.,  Principal  of  Public  School  No.  3,  Borough 
of  Manhattan,  City  of  New  York.  Cloth.  i2mo.  167  pages.  $1,25  net. 

Pupil  Self-Government.  Cloth.    Z2mo.    ix  -f  107  pages.    $  .go  net. 

CUBBERLEY.  Syllabus  of  Lectures  on  the  History  of  Education.  With 
Selected  Bibliographies  and  Suggested  Readings.  By  Ellwood  P.  Cub- 
berley,  Associate  Professor  of  Education,  Leland  Stanford  Junior  Univer- 
sity. Second  Edition,  revised  and  enlarged.  In  two  parts. 

Part  I,  v  +  129  pages,  $  1.50  net ;  Part  //,  xv  -f  361  pages,  $  1.50  net. 

Complete  in  one  volume,  $  2.60  net. 

DE  GARMO,  CHARLES.  Interest  and  Education.  By  Charles  De  Garmo, 
Professor  of  the  Science  and  Art  of  Education  in  Cornell  University. 

Cloth.     I2mo.    xvii  +  230  pages.     $i.oonet. 

The  Principles  of  Secondary  Education. 

Vol.  I,  Studies.     Cloth.     I2mo.     xii-\- 299  pages.     $1.25  net. 

Vol.  //,  Processes  of  Instruction,    xii  -j-  200 pages.     $  i.oo  net. 

Vol.  Ill,  Processes  of  Instruction.     In  press. 

DEXTER,  EDWIN  GRANT.    A  History  of  Education  in  the  United  States. 

By  Edwin  Grant  Dexter,  Professor  of  Education  in  the  University  of  Illinois* 

Cloth,    xxi  +  665  pages.    8vo.     $  2.00  net. 

DUTTON,  SAMUEL  T.  Social  Phases  of  Education  in  the  School  and  the 
Home.  By  Samuel  T.  Dutton,  Superintendent  of  the  Horace  Mann 
Schools,  New  York.  Cloth.  I2mo.  ix  4-  259  pages.  $  1.25  net 


DUTTON  &  SNEDDEN.    The  Administration  of  Public  Education  in  the 

United  States.     By  Samuel  Train  Dutton,  A.M.,  and  David  Snedden, 

Ph.D.    With  an  Introduction  by  Nicholas  Murray  Butler,  Ph.D.,  LL.D. 

Cloth.    viii-\- 595  pages.    Bibliography.     Index.    j2mo.    $1.75  net. 


A  LIST  OF  BOOKS  FOR  TEACHERS  —  Con  tinned 


FITCH,  SIR  JOSHUA.  Educational  Aims  and  Methods.  Lectures  and  Ad- 
dresses by  Sir  Joshua  Fitch,  late  Her  Majesty's  Inspector  of  Training 
Colleges.  Clotk.  xii  -f-  448  pages,  I2mo.  $1.25  net. 

-  Lectures  on  Teaching.  Cloth.    xiii+  393  pages.    z6mo.    $i.oonet. 

OILMAN,  MARY  L.  Seat  Work  and  Industrial  Occupations.  A  Practical 
Course  for  Primary  Grades.  By  Mary  L.  Oilman,  Principal  of  the  Clay 
School,  Minneapolis,  Minn.,  and  Elizabeth  L.  Williams,  Principal  ot  the 
Holmes  School,  Minneapolis,  Minn. 

Fully  illustrated.     Cloth.    141  pages.     Square  I2mo.     $.50  net. 

GANONG,  WILLIAM  F.  The  Teaching  Botanist.  A  Manual  of  Informa- 
tion upon  Botanical  Instruction,  together  with  Outlines  and  Directions  for 
a  Comprehensive  Elementary  Course.  By  William  F.  Ganong,  Ph.D., 
Professor  of  Botany  in  Smith  College. 

Cloth,    izmo.    xi  -\-2jo  pages.    $i.ionet. 

HALLECK,  REUBEN  POST.  The  Education  of  the  Central  Nervous  System. 
A  Study  of  Foundations,  especially  of  Sensory  and  Motor  Training.  By 
Reuben  Post  Halleck,  M.A.  (Yale). 

Cloth.    I2mo.    xii  -\-  258  pages.     fyi.oonet. 

HANUS,  PAUL  H.  A  Modern  School.  By  Paul  H.  Hanus,  Professor  of  the 
History  and  Art  of  Teaching  in  Harvard  University. 

Cloth.     i2mo.    x  -f  306  pages  .     $1.25  net. 

-  Educational  Aims  and  Educational  Values.    By  Paul  H.  Hanus. 

Cloth.    1  2  mo.     vii  -f-  221  pages.    $1.00  net. 

HERBART,  JOHN  FREDERICK.  Outlines  of  Educational  Doctrine.  By  John 
Frederick  Herbart.  Translated  by  Alex.  F.  Lange,  Associate  Professor  of 
English  and  Scandinavian  Philology  and  Dean  of  the  Faculty  of  the  College 
of  Letters,  University  of  California.  Annotated  by  Charles  De  Garmo, 
Professor  of  the  Science  and  Art  of  Education,  Cornell  University. 

Cloth.     Large  I2mo.    xi-}-  334  pages.     $1.25  net. 

HERRICK,  CHEESMAN  A.  The  Meaning  and  Practice  of  Commercial  Edu- 
cation. By  Cheesman  A.  Herrick,  Ph.D.,  Director  of  School  of  Com- 
merce, Philadelphia  Central  High  School. 

Cloth,    xv  +  378  pages  .     i2mo.     $1.2$  net. 

HORNE,  HERMAN  HARRELL.  The  Philosophy  of  Education.  By  Herman 
Harrell  Home,  Assistant  Professor  of  Philosophy  and  Pedagogy  in  Dart- 
mouth College.  Cloth.  8vo.  xvii-\-  295  pages.  $1.50  net. 

-  The  Psychological  Principles  of  Education.   By  Herman  Harrell  Home. 

Cloth.    I2mo.    xiii  +  435  pages.     $1.75  net. 


HUEY,  EDMUND  B.    The  Psychology  and  Pedagogy  of  Reading.    By  Pro- 
fessor Edmund  B.  Huey,  of  the  Western  University  of  Pennsylvania. 

Cloth.     I2mo.    xvi\-  469  pages.     $1.40  net. 

KILPATRICK,    VAN    EVRIE.      Departmental    Teaching    in   Elementary 
Schools.     By  Van  Evrie  Kilpatrick. 

Cloth.    I2tno.    xiii^r  130  pages.    i6mo.    $.60  net. 


A  LIST  OF  BOOKS  FOR  TEACHERS  —  Continued 


KIRKPATRTCK,  EDWIN  A.    Fundamentals  of  Child  Study.     By  Professor 

Edwin  A.  Kirkpatrick,  Principal  of  State  Normal  School,  Fitchburg,  Mass. 

Cloth.    i2tno.    xxi+ 384  pages.     $1.25  net. 

MAJOR,  DAVID  R.  First  Steps  in  Mental  Growth.  A  Series  of  Studies  in 
'the  Psychology  of  Infancy.  By  David  R.  Major,  Professor  of  Education 
in  the  Ohio  State  University. 

Cloth,     xiv  -f- 360 pages,     izmo.    $1.25  net. 

THE  McMURRY  SERIES  EMchf  doihf  I2mo. 

General  Method. 

The  Elements  of  General  Method.     By  Charles  A.  McMurry. 

323  pages.     $.9o  net. 

The  Method  of  the  Recitation.     By  Charles  A.  McMurry  and  Frank  M. 

McMurry,  Professor  of  the  Theory  and  Practice  of  Teaching,  Teachers 
College,  Columbia  University.  xi-\- 329  pages.     $.90  net. 

Special  Method.     By  Charles  A.  McMurry. 

Special  Method  in  Primary  Reading  and  Oral  Work  with  Stories. 

vii  -f- 103  pages.  $.60  net. 

Special  Method  in  the  Reading  of  English  Classics. 

vi  +  254 pages .  $.75  net. 

Special  Method  in  Language  in  the  Eight  Grades. 

viii  +  192  pages.  $.70  net. 

Course  of  Study  in  the  Eight  Grades. 

Vol.1.       Grades  I  to  IV.     vii  +  236  pages.  $.75  net. 

Vol.11.     Grades  V  to  VIII.     v  + 226  pages.  $.75  net. 

Special  Method  in  History .  •       vii  +  291  pages.  $.75  net. 

Special  Method  in  Arithmetic.  vii  +  225 pages.  $.70  net. 

Special  Method  in  Geography.  xi-\-  21?  pages.  $.70  net. 

Special  Method  in  Elementary  Science.  ix  +  275  pages.  $.75  net. 

Nature  Study  Lessons  for  Primary  Grades.    By  Mrs.  Lida  B.  McMurry, 

with  an  Introduction  by  Charles  A.  McMurry.     xi  +  iqi  pages.     $.60  net. 


MONROE,  PAUL.  A  Brief  Course  in  the  History  of  Education.  By  Paul 
Monroe,  Ph.D.,  Professor  in  the  History  of  Education,  Teachers  College, 
Columbia  University.  Cloth.  8vo.  xviii-\- 409  pages.  $1.25  net. 

A  Text-book  in  the  History  of  Education. 

Cloth,    xxiii  +  .277  pages.     I2mo.    $7.90  net. 

A  Source  Book  of  the  History  of  Education.    For  the  Greek  and  Roman 

Period.  Cloth.    xiii  + 515  pages.     8vo.     $2.25  net. 

O'SHEA,  M.  V.  Dynamic  Factors  in  Education.  By  M.  V.  O'Shea,  Pro- 
fessor of  the  Science  and  Art  of  Education,  University  of  Wisconsin. 

Cloth.    I2mo.    xiii -\- 320  pages.     $/. 25  net. 

Linguistic  Development  and  Education. 

Cloth,     rzmo.    xvii-\- 347  pages.     $1.25  net. 


A  LIST  OF  BOOKS  FOR  TEACHERS  —  Continued 


PARK,  JOSEPH  C.  Educational  Woodworking  for  Home  and  School.  By 
Joseph  C.  Park,  State  Normal  and  Training  School,  Oswego,  N.Y. 

Cloth.     I2tno.     xiii-\- 310  pages,  tllus.     $1.00  net. 

PERRY,  ARTHUR  C.  The  Management  of  a  City  School.  By  Arthur  C. 
Perry,  Jr.,  Ph.D.,  Principal  of  Public  School  No.  85,  Brooklyn,  N.Y. 

Cloth,    i2tno.    viii  -J-  350  pages.     $1.25  net. 

ROWE,  STUART  H.  The  Physical  Nature  of  the  Child.  By  Dr.  Stuart  H. 
Rowe,  Professor  of  Psychology  and  the  History  of  Education,  Training 
School  for  Teachers,  Brooklyn,  N.Y. 

Cloth.    I2tno.    vi  + 211  pages.    $.90  net. 

ROYCE,  JOSIAH.  Outlines  of  Psychology.  An  Elementary  Treatise  with 
some  Practical  Applications.  By  Josiah  Royce,  Professor  of  the  History 
of  Philosophy  in  Harvard  University. 

Cloth.    i2mo.     xxvii -\~3q2pages.    $i.oonet. 

SHAW,  EDWARD  R.    School  Hygiene.    By  the  late  Edward  R.  Shaw. 

Cloth.    vii-\- 255  pages.    i2mo.    $r.oonet. 

SMITH,  DAVID  E.  The  Teaching  of  Elementary  Mathematics.  By  David 
E.  Smith,  Professor  of  Mathematics,  Teachers  College,  Columbia  Uni- 
versity. Cloth,  xv +312  pages.  I2mo.  $r.oonet. 

SNEDDEN  AND  ALLEN.  School  Reports  and  School  Efficiency.  By  David 
S.  Snedden,  Ph.D.,  and  William  H.  Allen,  Ph.D.  For  the  New  York 
Committee  on  Physical  Welfare  of  School  Children. 

Cloth.     i2mo.    xi+ 183  pages.    $1.50  net. 

VANDEWALKER,  NINA  C.  The  Kindergarten  in  American  Education. 
By  Nina  C.  Vandewalker,  Director  of  Kindergarten  Training  Department, 
Milwaukee  State  Normal  School. 

Cloth.     xiii  + 274  pages.    For tr.,  index ,  I2tno.    $1.25  net. 

WARNER,  FRANCIS.  The  Study  of  Children  and  Their  School  Training. 
By  Francis  Warner.  Cloth,  xix  -f  264  pages.  I2tno.  $1.00  net. 

WINTERBURN  AND  BARR.    Methods  in  Teaching.     Being  the  Stockton 
Methods  in  Elementary  Schools.     By  Mrs.  Rosa  V.  Winterburn,  of  Los 
Angeles,  and  James  A.  Barr,  Superintendent  of  Schools  at  Stockton,  Cal. 
Cloth,    xii  +355 pages.    I2mo.     $1.25  net. 


THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS,  64-66  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YOBK 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


REC'D  LD 

DEC  1  1  1962 

r~ri  ii  *r  iJmA  [\!  'pTifi  AMM 

**  E1G*Dl'<f  fljf 

APR    4  1963 

**   *^5» 

IN  STACKS 

MAR  2  6  1970 

REC 

APR    81970 

1 

YB  02339 


M176252 


$17 


Spe. 

THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


